A Foolish Figure
by RuGrimm
Summary: In present day London, a string of mysterious, unscheduled murders occur. When Reapers start to go missing, and William discovers that they can trust no one, how will they save not only themselves, but the Grim Reaper entirety? GrellxWilliam, RonaldxOC. Warnings for graphic violence, language, sexual innuendos, etc. etc. Edited by: PrimeLaughter and cover art by: crazigirl
1. Prologue: The Coming of a Storm

The freezing autumn rain sprinkled on the outskirts London. Not a soul could be seen in the damp, vacant streets, but in a back alleyway stood a lone figure, concealed by a black, sodden hood and the thick, heavy, London fog. The whipping wind ruffled the cloak, letting the stinging, icy droplets meeting the figure's pale skin. It mentally cursed itself on the lack of layers it was wearing; yet it remained eerily silent in the shady alleyway. It remained completely still, however, occasionally, it switched from one foot to another as proof it was more than a mere statue. The white mist of its breath mingled with the infamous London fog, and the being almost seemed like a mystic entity in the faint moonlight. It stood there as the minutes turned to hours. The clock named Ben, towering over the sleeping city, struck twelve. And now, in the darkness of the night, the figure seemed as if it were waiting for something—or someone. Then, suddenly, there came a sound.

One, two…

One, two…

One, two…

The sound of footsteps echoed in the still night, and a pair of large brown boots stepped in an icy puddle only a few feet behind the first figure. The first whipped around with the speed of someone who had just heard the distinctive sound of a rattlesnake, and realized in mute horror who it was who had just appeared behind him.

"Master." greeted the first after several moments, biting his lip nervously as he gave a slight bow. As the second shifted slightly, the first flinched and bit his lip even harder. With every breath he shuddered, and even after several moments, he was only dimly aware of the coppery blood filling his mouth.

"Good evening. Quite the weather we're having, aren't we?" said the second, nodding in the first's general direction. Beneath the shadow of his hood was the faint glow of a cigar; somehow still burning despite the rain. Two pairs of glowing, green eyes focused on the first figure. His voice was gruff and held a certain depth only magnified by the smallest hint of a British accent that it held.

"Indeed, master." He was no longer gnawing on his lip now that he was aware of the blood filling his mouth, though he didn't mind the taste. Anxiety was rolling off of him in waves. He clutched his fists at his sides. He flinched at every movement the second made and he had every right to be afraid.

"They say it's going to storm."

"Isn't it storming now?" inquired the first, watching the second suspiciously with his luminescent, glowing, pink eyes.

"No, 'tis but a sprinkle—a mere prerequisite to the coming storm." The second breathed out of his nose in a sigh, smoke mingling with misty breaths and heavy fog.

"Does this mean the plan is starting soon?"

"Correct," stated the second simply, almost distantly as he slowly reached out a single, gloved hand, catching tiny droplets within his palm. "We will make it rain."

"E-Excuse me, sir?" The first had taken a step back and was staring at the second with an almost alarmed expression. He swallowed, now fearing for his life.

"We will make it rain," the second repeated, and even though he couldn't see it, the first could feel the sly smile spreading across the second's lips. "But it won't be any rain, my friend. No, it shall be made of something else entirely."

The first had a feeling of what the other would say. Nevertheless, he couldn't resist the urge question, raising a quizzical eyebrow in the process. "And what shall it be made from, master?"

The reply was a cruel, icy word, followed by a mirthful laugh. The first's lips turned upwards in a sly smile; revealing two pairs of razor sharp fangs. The fear in his now crimson eyes was doused and placed with a malicious lust.

The game was about to begin.

And it started with that single word.

_"Blood."_


	2. Chapter 1: Words and Connections

"And then she said something 'bout me not bein' all committed and how I'm always cheatin' on her, but I'm not. I mean, just because I take other girls out on dates doesn't mean I'm cheating! I just feel sorry for 'em cause they're all single and everything. Personally, I think she's gotta scythe through her brain or somethin'...Geez."

Once again, the infamous Ronald Knox was going on about one of his break-ups with his now ex-girlfriend, Rebecca ("Becca") Longlynn, instead of doing the veritable mountain of paperwork set out before him on his ebony desk. The desk was situated in the center of the blonde's office on a purple rug; the room painted white and black with several miscellaneous items (rubber plants, a clock, filing cabinets, a table, etc.) were (CHANE WERE LINED UP TO LINING THE. IT FLOWS BETTER AND IS MORE GRAMATICALLT CORRECT -TO SEE WHAT I MEAN, READ THIS SECTION ALOUD.) lined up along the walls. Ronald was sitting in a black, roll-around chair closest to the door, and on the opposite end of the desk was a white-haired reaper by the name of Elzabeth. Elzabeth M. Spears. Her long, snow white hair hung down; covering her face as she payed no heed to the blonde Shinigami across from her. She had earlier been asked to help young Knox with catching up on his paperwork; a job she was forced to do all too often. More or less, by helping, she was actually doing the paperwork for him. Nevertheless, she did it with little complaint. It was, after all, her job as a Shinigami, and what kind of reaper would she be if she couldn't do a little paperwork?

The white reaper stayed silent, the only sound in the room was the scratching of her pencil and ticking of the purple clock hung upon the eastern wall. At last, it was the blonde who broke the silence, "So what are ya doin' Saturday?"

"Working" was her cold reply, not even bothering to chance a glance at the reaper with bi-colored locks.

"Is that, like, all you ever do?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow and giving a smug look in Elzabeth's direction.

"You should know that by now, Ronald."

"Dude, ya need to like, get out or something. When's the last time you've had a boyfriend?" There was an inquisitive tone in his voice as he leaned back in his chair; putting both feet up on his desk and cradling his head in his hands.

"The last time you were single." she scoffed, not looking up as she swept Ronald's feet off the desk easily with her pencil. "Never."

"Hey! That's not fair! I don't date all the time! I'm single now! It's been a whole three hours!" Ronald crossed his arms defiantly, pursing his lips in a pout as he crossed his right leg over the left.

"Wow, a new record. Three hours without a girlfriend, that must be painful. I hope you don't die from the stress, I don't take kindly to the thought of having to do you paperwork for the rest of eternity. Wait, never mind. I already do that anyway. Scythe forbid you took advantage of your relationship status and actually do what you're being paid to do." Elzabeth chastised, rolling her eyes and reaching for another form to fill out.

"Dude, you have no idea how hard it is for me! Girls are crawling up my legs just to date me, and if I don't get a girl soon, they might start calling dibs on which body parts they want to date," he groaned, running the palms of his hands down his face dramatically.

"You whine like Grell-senpai."

"Well, I'll pass on the paperwork, I gotta date with a hot chick tonight," he chirped, grinning as he pointed to himself with his thumbs.

"Shocker." Elzabeth rolled her eyes a second time, flexing her hand slightly as it was starting to begin to cramp from the endless hours of writing she had endured. "Who's the unfortunate secretary that has to deal with your lame jokes and cheesy pick-up lines tonight?"

"Eh, she's no secretary. She actually works in the Dispatch," he said as matter-of-factly, still grinning.

This peaked the white haired reaper's interest, and at last she looked up while quirking an eyebrow. The black framed glasses adorned with a single white rose on either side flashed as the light reflected them, and her two-toned gaze met Ronald's. As far as Elzabeth knew, there were only three female officers in the entire Dispatch, and she was one of them. The second was a blonde reaper that had been assigned to be Ronald's caretaker when he was reaped and she went by the name of Felicianna Knox; the Italian Dispatch Director. Most reapers were reincarnated from their human lives after they died, and there were only a handful of pure blood (or born) reapers in the entire Dispatch. Any reaper who died before the age of seventeen was assigned a caretaker, or foster parent, until they turned seventeen and were admitted into the Academy. All 'adopted' reapers had their last name changed to that of their caretaker's. Such a thing happened with Elzabeth herself, as she was the youngest ever to be reaped; dying at the age of seven and assigned William T. Spears.

Besides Elzabeth and Felicianna, the last female reaper was Rachel E. Goodwin, otherwise known as 'Rae'. She was a transfer from the Paris Division in the French Dispatch. No one quite knew why the brunette had been transferred. Some say it was because she had a bad habit of drinking on the job; others say that it was because she was mentally unstable, and there were a select few that believe that it was because of a terrible incident. Elzabeth herself had no idea, and she only knew Rae because she was the reaper that Elzabeth had been assigned with during the final exam. She was the only other female reaper besides Elzabeth that Ronald could possibly have his eye on.

"Rae? You are aware that she isn't into men, aren't you?" she questioned the white clad reaper. She had learned that herself personally when the brunette had been flirting with her in the break room. Needless to say, Elzabeth made it clear she wanted nothing to do with the French reaper and the two were still on good terms to this day.

"Well duh, I didn't mean her. She's too much like Grell-senpai anyway; it'd be like dating him." Ronald shivered at the thought of dating his senior, though the smug expression returned to his face and stayed there as if it was plastered to his face like wallpaper.

"Then who are you implying?" The sharp note in her tone grew slightly, her dual colored eyes narrowing as she threw the blonde a threatening glance; almost as if she was daring him to say what she knew he was bound to. She knew exactly what he would say next, as the two of them had been down this road several times before. Each time, the answer was the same: no. However, Ronald Knox was famous for always getting his girl, and he was as persistent as ever-much to Elzabeth's dismay.

Paying no heed to the warning glare he was receiving from across his paper clad desk, he winked; grin forming from ear to ear. "Who else?"

Elzabeth sighed, rubbing her temple in an attempt to stop the headache she knew was coming. She then closed her green and amber eyes before speaking. "No."

It wasn't as if she minded going out somewhere, but the fact it would be with Ronald Knox, of all people. The thought revolted her, disgusted her; it was almost unimaginable. She was a Shinigami; a Death God/Goddess. There was no time for such childish games-especially with Ronald Knox. She had no interest in the blonde whatsoever, nor would she ever, and if she was in a burning building and had to choose between Ronald Knox and her paperwork, she'd choose paperwork every time. He was impetuous, self-centered, stupid, lazy, disrespectful, and downright annoying. If he could have any girlfriend more than a week, it was a miracle. However, there seemed to be a never-ending line for the blonde, and once Ronald broke up with one, it wasn't long before another girl took his place. Of course, Elzabeth could hardly blame them them; Knox was rather handsome, and polite (when he wanted to be), but his reckless, headstrong, stupid demeanor was something that Ms. Spears couldn't help but not stand. The blonde knew exactly how to push every single one of her buttons, and he did a damn good job at pushing those buttons everyday. Elzabeth swore that one day she would kill the annoying, or at least beat the devil out of him. Too bad there was a ban on such violence, and fighting was strictly frowned upon in the workplace. Otherwise the blonde would have died a long time ago.

"Aw come on, Elz!" She cringed as he called her that...Otherwise known as: the forbidden name. Elzabeth thought she had made it clear with the blonde that she had absolutely despised the nickname he had given her. For some reason, Ronald gave names to every single reaper that came into the Dispatch except for Grell and William; but with good reasons. Grell...well, it was too short and almost impossible to come up with a nickname, and if Ronald had made up a nickname, and the redhead hadn't liked it, then there wouldn't be anything left of the blonde (save for the several splatters of blood on the walls, ceiling, and floor). And William? Well the only one who had ever gotten away with calling him Will was Grell; anyone else was given overtime or hit upside the head with his pruning shears. Needless to say, no one dared to call him Will or Willy except the over-zealous redhead. "You know you want to."

"NO." Elzabeth glared at him, nearly snapping her pencil as she gripped it tightly in frustration and hissed at him through her gritted teeth.

Ronald laughed, standing up when he did not receive the answer he was looking for-though the white haired reaper went back to her pencil-pushing and ignoring him. He walked around to stand behind her before wrapping his arms around her waist; resting his chin on her shoulder between the two black stripes on her formal, white jacket (which bore silver buttons and two black stripes down either sleeve).

"Are you sure?" he crooned, smirking as Elzabeth stiffened.

The white-haired reaper was about to round on him, intent on driving her scythe so far up his arse he could lick it. However, it was not to be. A firm, loud knock against the office door drew their attention, and Ronald left her side as quickly as he had come.

"Sup, Marty?!" he chimed as he opened the door, giving a mock salute as he saw the huge reaper outside the room.

Martin Riesenberg: director of the British Dispatch. He was like the Shinigami version of the Jolly Green Giant. Minus the green. The reaper had platinum blonde hair and stood almost six and a half feet tall; weighing a full hundred and seventy-two pounds of raw muscle. To put it simply: he wasn't little. His hair was slicked back, and he wore a pair of black glasses as he chewed on the cigar in his mouth. Martin slid it to the corner of his lips as he blew out and began to speak. "Aye, not much, Ron." His two-toned gaze flew over to where Elzabeth was sitting. "Am I interrupting something?"

The working reaper sighed, looking up and adjusting her glasses with her pencil. "No sir. Nothing but paperwork, Mr. Riesenberg."

"Ah, yes. Paperwork. The Spears' reputation; cold ass pencil pushers." Despite his rank as a director, Martin was one of the...ruder Shinigami in the Dispatch. Nevertheless, he was hard working, and one of the oldest Shinigami left; perhaps around half a millenia or so. "You're too much like your father."

"Mr. Spears is not my father; he was merely a temporary guardian until I was old enough to join the Academy. As for my demeanor, Mr. Riesenberg, I was only humbly following the rules and expectations of this Dispatch and Shinigami-kind. I merely live to serve," she stated, an icy edge in her tone-almost bitter. Elzabeth then stood, picking up a rather large ledger and tucking it under her arm before starting towards the door. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have an appointment at four o' clock sharp this evening. Good day to the both of you."

"Temporary guardian? So that's why you kept your last name Spears and have adoption forms in your file. Makes sense." Martin chuckled, smirking as the white haired reaper walked past him.

Elzabeth froze, glaring back at the two blonde reapers behind her out of the corner of her eyes. "Mr. Riesenberg, you are aware at our adoption policy, so you see that I was assigned Mr. Spears simply as a caretaker until I had reached the proper age. I do thank Mr. Spears on his patience through the long decade in which he was forced to put up with my presence, but he was and will never be father to me. You see, words are only words. What matters is the connections you make with them. As Ms. Juliet so beautifully said: a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet. It does not matter what I refer to him as, but the connection I make with that word. I do not call him father, because others would get the ridiculous notion that I actually care about him; that I actually have feelings towards him. And I do not have such fickle emotions. The only feeling I have towards Mr. Spears is respect. He is my coworker and boss, no more, no less. That is the way it's been, and the way it shall always be."

And she left without another word.


	3. Chapter 2: The Rules

Pitter-patter.

Pitter-patter.

Rain fell down on the misty city of London, low clouds hanging below the rooftops and obscuring figure atop a building, overlooking a dark alleyway in the East End. Her long white hair fell past her shoulders and down to her waist, blending in with the white mist surrounding her and a strange object in her hand. To anyone else, it was just a fancy, white and black bow, but upon closer there was blades on either end of the bow, serrated and sharp to the point. It was held by gloved hands, the holder clad in a high-collared white tux jacket with silver rose buttons and two black stripes running down from collar to sleeve on either side. White, skin-tight pants were tucked under white and black high-heel boots.

Elzabeth had been standing on top of the rooftop for a fair three hours, waiting for the time of her scheduled collection. Today's collection was a young girl who had no name and was about seven years old: blonde, blue eyes, four-foot-two, fifty-five pounds…death by stabbing. Not that the Shinigami really cared about the little girl, rather the memories associated with this particular reaping. Too familiar…oh, how familiar. Like the nightmares she had had every night for the last ninety-six years. The memories she could never forget.

Grim Reapers were like the joke of second chances. They were nothing but reincarnations of humans with bad lives. Of course, no one ever talked about their past lives, but it was common knowledge that every Shinigami had either a terrible life, or a horrible death before they became a reaper. No one had to ask, and no one ever did; it was that simple. Unfortunately, Shinigami were incredibly sterile, and it was literally impossible to ever conceive a child, or impregnate a woman of another species (therefore eliminating the threat of half-breeds or maternity leaves). Therefore, reincarnation from a mortal life was the only way Grim Reapers increased their numbers. However, it is never as easy as it sounds. Humans are simply reincarnated souls, and new souls are always incredibly rare; therefore it is up to the Shinigami to place each soul in their respected species. Even angels, reapers, and demons could be reincarnated should the Shinigami reap their soul. The only way for a soul to be lost or destroyed is for it to never be reaped (therefore making it a ghost), or to be devoured by a demon (thus the initial hatred of demons by the Grim Reapers). And it was only the immortal species (everything except humans) that kept the memories of their past lives all the way up until the point where they were humans, because humans were such stupid, folly creatures.

Grim Reaper-worthy souls are usually hard to come by. Each soul is chosen precisely to be the "perfect Shinigami". A life with hardships and struggle with little sin-a horrible life, yet not a tainted soul. So, a girl who had become a prostitute to raise money for her children would become a Shinigami instead of a pure Christian priest who had lived his life with no hardships. Typically, royalty and nobles had zero chance of ever having a place among the Shinigami ranks and would be reincarnated as something else. The only exception to this rule had been none other than Grell Sutcliff himself, who was the third son of the Baron Sutcliff; but that was the only known exception among Reapers. Why Grell of all nobles chosen, no one quite knew, they simply assumed the worst or thought it had been an error. However, Grim Reapers do not make errors, nor do they ask questions.

At any rate, Elzabeth now thought of that past life she could not shake from her conscious, plaguing her mind and driving her to the point of insanity. If the definition of insanity was to do the same thing over and over again, expecting different results, then she was already insane. Every night she found herself falling asleep, expecting to have a dreamless night or at least another dream; but it was always the same.

She saw every night what she saw was starting to happen now before her in the alleyway below her.

A small girl, running down the streets for her life, was pulling a boy of no more than four behind her. Several men chased after them, enraged that they had been pick-pocketed by the boy and the girl had rushed to his defense, trying to save him from a worser fate. She'd taken a wrong turn, cornered in an alley as the men raced after her.

"Oh, she's a pretty one, ain't she?"

"A real doll."

"Won't she be fun?"

The words echoed in her head as she watched the girl huddled in the corner, protecting the boy with her body despite her trembling legs and wide eyes. Brave. She had to be brave. Like her parents, who were off fighting in the war; who had left her all alone in the world. After all, who would care if she died? She was just an orphan wandering the streets of London, stealing to survive.

Elzabeth turned her head away, trying to drown out the girl's screams of agony as they pinned her to the ground, violently raping her before taking a knife. The bastards had decided to shut her up and in their infinite wisdom tried to cut out her voice box. Geniuses they were, ending up killing the girl in the end and finally just stabbed all over her limp body in rage. The boy had lived because she had died. He had escaped whilst the others were busy defiling the innocent girl in a dirty street in London. There had been several passersby, but they all ignored her screams; this scene all too familiar and common for any of them to care. It wasn't anyone important, so why pay attention?

It was the way life went. There were people who stole, and then there were people who were stolen from. There were people who lived, and then there were people who died. But no one cared about those they stole from; about those who died as long as they themselves were living.

The men stole the girl's life. The boy stole the girl's freedom for his own…Until the boy was scheduled to die in the next week when he got ran over by a car running away from someone he'd stolen from.

The Shinigami above watched the men at the end who were busy cutting her throat. She leaped down into the street and cloaking herself from mortal view as she walked to the girl, clothes tattered and whose blood was staining the street, red mixing with white. The girl looked directly at Elzabeth, tears in her eyes as she felt the world slipping from her grasp.

Her pleas were but feeble whispers falling on deaf ears; her tormentors driving that knife through her throat. Her world was nothing but agony at that moment. Blood poured from her neck onto what was left of her clothes and onto the street. She felt herself drowning in that sea of red. She struggled and gasped, trying to breathe in air but only succeeding in swallowing her own blood. Choking and rasping, she clawed at her neck, as if to rip out her own throat, flailing to free herself from this world...this prison, she was trapped inside. To be spared the pain for any further moments. Her lungs were bursting, her vision fading, but still the pain continued. Her eyes dripped tears though they would do her no good. Her body twitched and spasmed and contorted itself in ways she did not know it could. She wanted it to end. Oh God, she needed it to end. Death would be a welcome respite for this horror. And she reached out a twitching, desperate hand towards the Death God that no one else could see. Every fiber of her being begged for death to take her at last-to end it now. There was no reason to live anyway; she already lived in hell.

All Elzabeth could do now was answer her silent prayers.

She raised her scythe, driving her bow straight through the child's chest. The girl screamed in a scarlet agony, eyes wide as her Cinematic Record was exposed to no one but her and the death god's eyes. Elzabeth already knew everything, there was no need to watch. Quickly and respectfully she reaped the girl's soul without hesitation.

"Young girl, name is unknown. Death by stabbing. Date: November 23rd...2013. No special notes," she commented, closing her ledger and jumping up to the rooftops above without another word, heels clicking gently on the ledge she had jumped upon. Slowly, she walked along the rooftops, her clothes soaked in the freezing autumn rain. So what? It wasn't as if she would get sick. She was already dead. The To-Die list in her gloved left hand disappeared, as did the scythe in her other hand; now walking empty-handed. For a moment, she started to think about the girl, but she forced it out of her mind and walked on without any remorse in her eyes.

It was the child's time. The Higher-Ups said it was.

She couldn't question it; no one could. And that was the way things were.

No questions. No regret. No emotions.

They had lived that way for centuries upon centuries. Change was just as unnecessary. Everything was fine. Everything was perfect.

After all, who was she to defy the rules?

And she went home without a word.


	4. Chapter 3: Shadow

Rachel E. Goodwin was walking down the empty streets of London in the dead of the night; her death scythes clipped to her belt and her apprentice at her heels. Tonight was a fairly easy reap, an old woman in her mid eighties who dies of a heart failure in her apartment. No special circumstances; nothing out of the ordinary.

Tonight she was clad in a black, high-collared jacket with red trim, her belt around her waist and ruby-handled knives clipped around it. She had identical glasses to her mentor, Grell Sutcliff, and identical boots, her black pants tucked into them as they clicked along the lonely sidewalk. As usual, her hair was a chocolate brown with a red streak in her bangs that hung over her left eye, falling down over her shoulders and just short of the bottom of her shoulder blades. Tonight she wore a black fedora with a red stripe around it, black eyeliner on her eyes, with red, glittery eye-shadow and bright red lipstick.

Rae was more or less the toned-down female counter-part of Grell, her mentor, with a dash of Ronald in. She'd transferred from the French Division to the British nearly seventy-three years ago, just after the French lost in WWII, though the exact reason why she had transferred was still unknown. The brunette never spoke of it, and no one ever asked as, of course, Shinigami don't ask questions. But, whatever caused her transfer also caused her to break out her storage of alcohol every night.

At her heels was the mute Hollis Harvey, a young, freckled recruit with unnatural-looking blue hair that hung down to her waist and was cut into bangs just short of her eyebrows. In her hair she wore a white headband with a blue rose on the left side. She had a traditional sickle on her belt, and was wearing the standard recruit uniform (a tuxedo jacket, waistcoat, dress shirt, slacks, and dress shoes). Hollis was just two months shy from taking her final, and was being sent out with her mentor to witness a real reaping. The young reaper was the only female in her class, and no one quite knew why. Hollis never spoke, and when she did it was short and in sign language. No one knew if she could even speak. They just accepted it, leaving the poor girl to herself. She was reaped at the age of fifteen, yet for some reason, she had been instantly thrown into the Academy without being assigned a caretaker at all. The young reaper had been in the Academy for only six years, and was scheduled to be the youngest Shinigami to ever graduate.

As the two walked down the street, Rae piped up, clasping her hands behind her head and looking up in a classic Ronald Knox pose.

"Hey, kohai, make sure you stay out of my way," she scoffed, rolling her eyes and walking nonchalantly with a sigh. "Will-senpai will give me overtime if anything happened to you. I don't want to be filling out paperwork cause you did something stupid."

Hollis nodded briefly, shying slightly at her mentor's attitude as she sulked and looked down at the ground.

The two walked up to the building, walking up the flights of stairs together in silence. They found their target, Matilda W. Barnheart in room 106 on the fifth flight, walking into the three-room apartment. Matilda was lying on her bed, sleeping peacefully as the the two reapers walked into the room and stood besides the bed.

Rae pulled up a chair, sitting down sideways so her legs dangled over the arm, pulling out a file like Grell usually did. "You might want to pull up a chair, honey, this is going to take awhile," she sighed, taking off the glove of her left hand before running the Emory board along her ruby nails.

Obediently, the young trainee sat on the dresser nearby, kicking her legs back and forth as she looked around with wide eyes. Next to her was a small vase of flowers, and without thinking, she plucked a white rose from the vase; holding it gently in one hand as she ran a tender, bare finger along the petals with the other.

After several moments, Rachel looked up from her current occupation to gaze at Hollis with a confused expression. "You're a weird one, aren't you?" she asked, quirking a trimmed eyebrow.

Hollis blushed, shrugging slightly and shyly, looking away as her freckled cheeks warmed up.

"And obviously you don't talk much either." Rae rolled her eyes, putting the file away as she slipped the glove back on. "Maybe if you talked more, you'd make an excellent reaper."

Hollis blushed even more at that, teeth scrapping against her bottom lip nervously, ducking her head and looking at the other reaper through her navy blue eyelashes.

"So, you're graduating early?" she asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at Hollis; only receiving a nod in response. "So why are you mute?"

Hollis replied in sign language, but Rachel had never bothered to learn it; looking at the blue haired Shinigami with a slightly confused expression. "...I think we're limited by yes and no questions aren't we...Hollis, right?"

The other Shinigami sitting on the dresser nearly face-palmed. This was her mentor. The girl who had been in charge of training her for the last two weeks...and she still didn't know Hollis's name...With a sigh, Hollis gave a small nod and looked away awkwardly again; playing with the rose in her hand absentmindedly.

After several moments of silence, Rae gave up trying to start up a conversation. The faster she got out of here, the faster she could break into that wine storage she'd gotten for Thanksgiving in advance. It wasn't like there was going to be anyone to share it with this year except possibly Grell-senpai, who was going to try and barge in on William's this year. Like usual.

Last year, the redhead had managed to break into William's home without being noticed. However, William came home sooner than expected and Grell, in his haste, hid...in the oven. Which, in the long run, had been a horrible idea, as there was no way to sneak out and William had to preheat the oven to put the turkey in. Grell finally gave up after about four hundred and ten degrees, and ended up being kicked from William's home, stripped of his scythe, demoted, and put on paperwork duty for six months. William was left with having to change menus with his oven being 'filthied' by that redhead and later having it scrubbed top to bottom to get rid of any lingering germs. Needless to say, William was fairly pissed off at having his Thanksgiving ruined and was taking precautions of guarding his home against any more intrusions...

"Alright, let's get this over with," she said with a sigh, getting up off her chair and slipping several of her brown tresses over her shoulder nonchalantly, rolling her eyes once more. The brunette took one of the several knives on her person and tapped the sharp blade against the palm of her hand as she walked towards the sleeping woman.

Matilda's breathing started to hitch; her ankles and wrists were swollen slightly, and her eyes fluttering. The reaper above her sighed, cocking her hips to the side as she simply waited for the old woman to kick the bucket already. Geez, there were things to do, wine to drink, and women to flirt with; she had no time for this.

The brunette began to debate between killing the woman early (as surely, no one would care if the geezer died), or behaving for her apprentice in the room. Choosing the latter, she sat on the bed besides the dying woman, playing with the knife in her hand with a bored expression.

Hollis jumped off the dresser, carefully putting the rose back with a small smile before scuffling over to look past her senpai and at the dying woman. She didn't like it at all, even if it was more peaceful than most deaths. It was horrible to have to do this. The young reaper was having doubts of actually listening to her superiors and doing as she was told. To do her job like everyone else. Though it that no one (save for a select few followed the rules anyway. Maybe she could just get away with doing paperwork for the rest of eternity. She would have chosen to be a secretary if she was given the choice, but for some odd reason, they'd forced her into. It seemed like Higher-Ups were trying to get as many reapers graduated as fast as possible.

But of course, who were they to defy the rules?

The two reapers failed to notice the darkening of the room, but Hollis did notice the cold breeze against her. Goosebumps formed over her pale body, and shivers snaked up her spine. A feeling of dread encased her in an invisible fog. Her eyes widened, and she dared to look over her shoulder...

Matilda finally got to the point where Rae could begin to reap her soul. The brunette leaned in and pressed the dagger against the elderly woman's throat, knowing that Hollis was most likely watching but speaking anyways. "Watch carefully, there is only one chance to do this. No repeats."

When Rae received no response, she thought nothing of it. After all, Hollis didn't talk, so why would Rachel expect a reply?

The experienced reaper slit the dying human's throat, a bright light coming out instead of blood, the cut revealing the woman's Cinematic Record.

Whilst Rachel inspected record, she failed to notice the growing darkness in the room; a shadow crept up upon her, but her mind was focused upon Matilda.

The woman had lived a rather happy life; growing up in Bristol with four siblings (Mary, John, Kate, and William) with the maiden name Matilda Cornwall, marrying her childhood sweetheart but never having kids. Her husband died four years prior and she had lost all her money gambling; forced to move into an apartment. "Matilda Wilma Barnheart, aged 86 years, death from heart failure. Date:November 25th. No special notes." she commented, collecting the soul within her death scythe before closing the ledger in her hand. "And that's how it's done."

Rae turned around with a smile as the light died out, leaving her in complete darkness...alone with a fresh corpse. "Hollis?" she asked, looking around as her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. "Where the hell did you go?" Turning her head side-to-side, she caught no sign of the trainee and her eyebrows furrowed with suspicion.

And then she felt dread flood her senses. It swirled into a whirlpool in the pit of her stomach, causing her to nearly lurch. It had been so long since she had felt the sensation; however, she knew exactly what it was when the goosebumps pricked her freezing skin and tingles crawling up her spine in warning.

"HOLLIS!"

Eyes wide in panic, she ran through the doorway and into the living room to try and find her apprentice before it was too late. Before...

Rae felt a hand on her leg, yanking her down and dragging her across the room as she let out a feral scream; now caught in a crimson dream.


	5. Chapter 4: Dreams, Dares, and Death

Grell found himself bent over William T. Spears's desk, red coat and striped ribbon tossed aside and shirt and vest ripped open; hanging limply on his shoulders. "A-ah~ _Will~..."_ he moaned, the ravenette trailing kisses hungrily over his exposed skin; strong hands pinning the redhead's wrists high above his head.

William scoffed, his usually tidy, slicked back hair falling into a state of dishevelment. His free hand adjusted the glasses on his face as he pinned Grell to the desk with his body; tuxedo jacket tossed aside on a chair. "You failed to turn in your paperwork on time, again, Sutcliff." he growled, voice deep and husky; causing his subordinate to shiver beneath him. "Are you ready to face the consequences of your actions?"

"YES!" he gasped, rolling his hips in earnest and staring up at William with lust-filled, half-lidded eyes; breath coming out in excited pants. "Please, _William~"_

William grit his teeth, glaring down at the red haired Shinigami before smashing their lips together in a violent kiss, the office soon filled with a scarlet passion and screams of ecstasy...

* * *

**"SENPAI!"**

Ronald yelled across the few yards in between him and his mentor, trying to break Grell out of his day-dream; in the middle of a reap and dodging a reel of the Cinematic Record they were trying to collect.

The redhead groaned dramatically, resting his head back against the tree he had been leaning against. They had been assigned a collection on the outskirts of London in the middle of the woods where a man had been shot during a drug trade, and in Grell's wait, the red reaper had leaned against a tree and caught himself in a dream of fiery red passion with his true love~. Too bad the love had been unrequited ever since it all began all those years ago and every time he brought it up with his darling William, he was promptly smacked upside the head.

Grell sighed heavily, looking at Ronald with a bored expression; left hand holding his chainsaw with ease as the tip of the blade rested upon the snow. "It looks like you've got this one under control, darling. I'm _much_ too busy to deal with that right now." he said with a huff, ignoring the blonde reaper who was wrapped up in reels and being strangled with the Cinematic Record.

"UNDER CONTROL MY ASS!" snapped the blonde, struggling against the reels and trying to free himself from the Cinematic Records that were holding him captive at the moment.

"No need to cuss, darling. It's hardly nice to do in the presence of a _lady."_ he scoffed, absently twirling a strand of red hair with gloved fingers.

Ronald grit his teeth, not daring to correct his mentor on the 'gender confusion' as the last time he did so...well it was better left unmentioned...

The blonde freed his arm, reaching out for his death scythe (a lawnmower) and swinging it to sever the stands holding him captive. "Thanks for the help." he muttered, leaping forwards to finish off the strands still flying in the air.

"Anytime, darling~" he cooed, watching as the blonde tripped, falling face-forwards into a pile of dead leaves. Grell giggled, putting a finger to his own, ruby red lips with an amused hum. "Hehe~ Grace~" he teased, standing up straight and getting off the tree; twirling the chainsaw nonchalantly in his left hand.

The redhead walked forwards with a sway of the hips, brushing several stray strands of crimson tresses over his shoulder; putting a hand delicately on his chest. "How do you plan on impressing Elz like _that~?"_ he teased, arching a trimmed, ginger eyebrow towards the blonde who was getting back to his feet and spitting out a few leaves. Grell giggled again, racing forwards faster than the human eye could register, both hands on his Death Scythe now as he leapt and swung the chainsaw down on the records.

"ABOUT TIME, GRELL-SENPAI!" Ronald huffed, spitting out a few more pieces of dirt before leaping to his feet and rushing back into the fight besides his red-haired mentor.

A reel flew towards the redhead, Grell twisting his body and easily dodging it before tearing the blades of the roaring scythe through the strand with ease. He giggled, twerking his body in a lewd manner with a blush and a dramatic gasp. "Ah~ From above~" Grell bent backwards when a reel lashed out at his face, slashing the reel and jumping up. "From below~" A crazed grin split his face, showing off two rows of glimmer, shark-like teeth as he swung his scythe horizontally; cutting all the reels in the process. "And side-to-side~ Our bodies cannot take much more~"

Ronald nearly deadpanned, a sweat drop going down his forehead as he closed his eyes with a sigh. "Senpai..." he muttered, slumping slightly with his lawnmower still in hand. "Really?"

Grell landed on a root from a tree nearby, the red coat hanging from his elbows fluttering slightly before stilling. "Ah, dar'st thou die~? A pity 'tis..." he mused, giggling as he he looked over his shoulder at the now dead man lying on the ground. The light in his eyes died; snow dyed red with his own blood. He gave one more, involuntary twitch before finally going still, mouth agape and eyes staring up at the pink and violet sky. "Come on, Ronnie, darling. We have better things to do hear, and it's starting to reek already."

Ronald rolled his eyes, letting his scythe disappear into thin air before taking out a book, jotting it down as he read it aloud. "Anthony McCartney. Death of gun wound. Date: November 26th, 2013. No special notes." He then closed the book, letting it disappear as well, before following after the effeminate reaper down the hillside covered in trees. The blonde saw his breath in the autumn air, shivering slightly but, nevertheless, keeping his quite as he looked up at the trees without leaves. London's ever-famous fog was starting to set in as the sun went down, their shoes sinking in snow.

He started to fall behind, walking nonchalantly with his hands stuffed in his pockets. "Grell-senpai, what are you doing for Thanksgiving tomorrow?"

"Not much, darling~ I was going to Will-darling's tomorrow, but he said no..." he said, frowning slightly as he let his chainsaw disappear; shoulders sagging.

"Since when has that stopped you before, senpai?" he questioned with a chuckle, arching an eyebrow with a smile.

"Oh, never, darling~ But I figured Willy would want a nice Thanksgiving." Grell explained with a shrug.

"Who the hell are you? Grell-senpai being thoughtful? Now I've seen everything!" he teased, laughing in the silent forest, snorting with amusement.

Grell gave a small smile in reply, sighing as he looked down at the ground for a moment. To think, his little Ronnie, of all people, was one of _them..._ They didn't understand. None of them understood...

"Hey, Grell-senpai, what did Spears-senpai say?" Ronald asked curiously, catching up to his mentor and looking down at the shorter, yet older, Shinigami after several moments of awkward silence.

"About what, darling~" he cooed, looking up at Ronald with a Cheshire grin.

"About those unscheduled deaths. We've had 'bout forty in the last month." he said, frowning at the thought of all those untimely murders.

"Ah~ He blamed them on demons, of course~" he chuckled, waving a delicate, gloved hand dismissively, before shivering at the thought of his daydream earlier. Those dark thoughts crowded his mind as he muttered to himself under his breath; looking away with a devious, longing, smirk. "What I wouldn't give to have that sexy man bend me over a desk any day~"

"What?" Ronald looked at Grell with a raised eyebrow, knowing his mentor had said something he couldn't _quite_ make out.

"Nothing, dearie. Just talking to myself is all." giggled the redhead, waving him away again.

"Ya shouldn't do that too often, Senpai. Ya might make a habit of it and turn into that old codger." Ronald pointed out with a chuckle, crossing his arms with a smirk.

"Oh~ Unnie~?" he asked, fluttering his eyelashes with a grin. "AH~ What a sexy hunk of man~! So many to choose from~! Why can't I have them all~?! From all sides~ WHAT _BLISS~!"_Ronald rolled his eyes, the redhead caught in his own little world where he tried to decide between the crazy geezer by the name of Undertaker, the devious demon named Sebastian, and the cold supervisor known only as William T. Spears. His mind was caught up in a dream of a foursome, a light blush across his cheeks as he hugged himself; shivering in delight. But of course, there was only one man he'd ever actually give himself to truly. And that was...

Ronald mock-punched Grell's shoulder, laughing at his mentor's state. "Come on, Will-senpai won't be happy if we don't come back on time. And I don't plan on going on overtime." he said with a smirk, winking at Grell.

"Race~?" Grell crooned, fluttering his eyelashes with a wolfish grin; eyes glittering with the thought of a challenge.

"_Bring it._" Ronald challenged, taking off down the hill at an inhuman pace and Grell hot on his heels.

xxx

The clicking of a typewriter, the voices of the Shinigami in the building, and the nervous tapping of William's foot filled the Director's Floor of the Dispatch.

He was standing outside of Martin's office. In his hand was another report of an unscheduled death; a woman in her late thirties, a bank accountant, no one special. However, it was unnerving. The amount of untimely deaths were greatly increasing with everyday that went by, and most of them were occuring in London. Which meant, not only would William would be stuck with overtime everyday until it was solved, his _job_ was on the line.

William was about to knock on the door when it opened, Martin Riesenberg standing there and looking down at William with a bland expression. "Come in."

Not skipping a beat, the supervisor walked past Martin, intent on dropping off the forums and leaving with haste. There was paperwork to fill out, and he had not the time for a lecture from his boss.

"Sit down, Spears." came Martin's voice, the door clicking behind them. So much for his plan...

William sat down obediently, crossing on leg over the other and clasping both hands in his lap; watching as Martin walked around the desk and sat down in the chair across from the ravenette. "Want one?" Martin asked, taking a cigar from a drawer in his desk, receiving a shake of the head from William. "Suit yourself."

Lighting the cigar, he moved it to the corner of his mouth, blowing out smoke and clasping his hands on the file upon his desk. "Mr. Spears, am I going to open this file and find yet another murder?" he asked, looking the supervisor dead in the eye.

A knot began to form in the pit of William's stomach, yet he did not betray himself; keeping a straight face and nodding curtly. "Indeed, sir."

Martin's eyes narrowed for a moment, glaring at his subordinate before picking up the file, flipping through the pages with a frown. William kept his stoic facade, but inside was growing nervous; afraid of what the consequences may be this time. "You're free to go, Spears. But I want this wrapped up as quick as possible." he said curtly, not looking up from the folder.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." William stood, giving a small bow before promptly turning on his heel, walking to the door and leaving without a word. He didn't stop until he got to the elevator, pressing the button and leaning against the wall with a heavy sigh after the doors closed. Finally...quiet.

Between the long hours and the nights where he came home to a certain redhead who always found a way to break into his home (usually ending up in the redhead being hit upside the head with his scythe and thrown outside like a puppy), William hadn't gotten a wink of sleep in the last week. Being a Shinigami, he didn't need sleep to survive, but it was starting to cloud his mind and make him confused on time. At the time being, he was only being kept awake by the vast number of coffee cups he'd drank; the caffeine enough to at least keep him awake and give him the slight buzz in the back of his mind to help with the stress of constantly working.

He couldn't quite remember the last time he'd had finally had a break, but it didn't matter at the time. William decided he could take a break after hours when he no longer had overtime and had solved this case. There was no room for error. No time for slacking. He'd put his own blood, sweat, and tears into this job, he wasn't going to let it go for naught.

Walking from the elevator, he sighed and walked towards his office; past the desk were a certain blonde was flirting with the secretary.

"Date? Of course I ain't datin' Nicole! She's too 'igh-class for me. Said she wanted to go to Paris for our first date, so I dumped 'er." he said, turning on the fake Cockney accent in an attempt to flirt. After all, he'd heard that foreign accents always turned a girl on; so he decided to try and learn the accent for himself to woo the girls.

"He's dating Nicole, Rebecca, Sarah, and Tatianna." William said, looking at the secretary as he passed by and the blonde being promptly smacked before she packed up her files and left.

"W-WILL-SENPAI!" Ronald protested, running after him with a sore cheek. "What was that for?!"

"It would be much more productive if you were actually doing your job." he commented, adjusting his glasses as he walked down the hall towards his office.

"But I'm off the clock, senpai!"

"You have overtime."

"SENPAI!" he groaned dramatically, throwing his head back as he walked after his surprerior. "I have a party to go to in Human Resources!"

"You're paperwork is getting bigger by the moment." was the only reply he gave, walking to his office and closing it behind him before the blonde could protest. At last, now he cou-

"Hello, Will-darling~" Grell was sitting in the chair next to the mahogany desk situated in the center of the room; the only light from the wall that was little more than a large window overlooking the Shinigami realm.

"Sutcliff, out." he muttered, too tired to put up a fight at the moment and walking forwards to his paper-clad desk.

"But..._Will_~" he pouted, curling his bottom lip as he batted his long, fake eyelashes at his boss as William sat down in his black chair; preparing to tackle the veritable mountain of paperwork atop his desk. "I'm _bored~"_ Grell scooted his chair closer to William and wiggled his hips slightly as he leaned his head the supervisor's shoulder; one hand coyly fiddling with the buttons of William's blazer. William's eyebrow twitched, glaring at Grell from the corner of his eyes and lowering his head slightly as his glasses flashed for a moment-light reflecting off the lenses. "Maybe we can have a bit. of. fun~" He kissed William on the cheek, promptly getting hit square in the head with the pole of pruning shears.

"OW!" Grell pulled away, holding his head with both hands as his head throbbed from the sudden impact. "That's no way to treat a lady!" he yelled, suddenly forgetting his pain and baring his teeth at the man besides him.

"Indeed. It's why I had no problem hitting you." he said blandly, eyebrow twitching again as he started to tackle the paperwork before him.

"S-so cold~" Grell cooed, hugging himself as a blush appeared in on his face as dark thoughts began to cross his mind. "Ah~ _Will~"_

William rolled his eyes, starting to tire of this ordeal and sighing irritably. "Sutcliff, out, before I take your Christmas vacation." he growled, glaring back at the redhead who was making lewd noises and wiggling his hips in a vulgar way; rudely interrupting the ravenette's work.

"Eek! Will!" he protested, stopping and looking at William wide-eyed. He _couldn't_ take away his Christmas vacation! He was going to the beach! He'd even bought a red bikini and everything! Of course, it was every woman's dream to flaunt her beauty. Why not do it at the beach?! Where it was nice, and warm, and sunny. Naturally, he'd miss the muggy London nights and the rainy days; even the chimes of Westminster Abbey ringing in the distance. But one could never live long in this monotonous life they lead; the life of an immortal began to get boring after a few decades, so obviously they had to find a way to spice up life every once in a while. The beach was Grell's getaway. It had taken a full year to finally be able to have an entire week off; even coming to work everyday for the last seven months so that he could save up vacation days. He was not letting his work go down the drain!

_"Leave."_ he stated coldly, turning his head to look Grell dead in the eye.

Grell sighed, giving up and bending over once he stood to peck William on the cheek; leaping across the office before William could hit him again. "Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow~" William pressed the trigger, swinging his scythe to his Grell and the redhead ducking with raucous laughter before the scythe could meet its mark. The redhead twirled out the door, blowing William a kiss before closing the door.

William retracted the shears with a frown, using it to adjust his glasses before speaking. _"Honestly..."_

xxx

He stood before a man in a suit.

He'd been here times before...but he was still scared. He knew what _'he'_ could do to him. Especially since he had disobeyed...He had tried to free them...But had been caught in the process. And now he was undergoing judgement.

The demon trembled, looking at the Suit-Man with fear. "Pl-please sir. D-don't..."

"Enough." The man's voice was sharp enough to cut steel, glowing green eyes seemingly staring into the demon's soul (if demons even had souls). "You disobeyed."

The demon got on his knees, tears in his eyes as he began to _beg_ to be spared. "I kn-know. I'm sorry sir, please. Please, all I ask is your forgiveness! I'll even kill _them_ if you wa-" he was cut off by a weapon of an unknown type was stabbed through his chest; blood tricking from his mouth and down his lips. The demon died within moments and the man in the suit took away the weapon, looking at the other demon in the room.

"Bring them to me. Bring me the Shinigami." he said coldly, eyes narrowing and a cold smile when two beings were brought to him and placed upon their knees; hands and mouths bound.

"Rachel Goodwin. And Hollis Harvey..."

He smiled...

_"It's good to see you again."_

* * *

Omg, this took FOREVVVEERRRRR to make. Like...ALL day. So you guys better be happy. I'm sorry if I let you guys down on this one, it was kinda rushed because I think this might be the last update for a while since school will be starting up again soon. Yeah, I know, I'll cry with you my little readers, but it simply cannot be helped :(

Anyways, I was listening to Bad Romance the ENTIRE EIGHT HOURS I was righting this. Because Lady Gaga is pretty awesome...and because I was using YouTube and it was Grell/William video...Grelliam is my OTP. I'm sorry Willron fans...but, I love Grelliam till the cows come home. End. Of Story.

Also, I had a question the other day whether or not you could make pictures on dA for this. And the answer is YES. YES YES YES! I would _**LOVE**_ it if someone, anyone, would make a picture and put it on deviantArt. As long as you don't say you wrote the story yourself (which I doubt anyone would do), you are free to make as many pictures as you want.

Make sure to review/favorite/follow the story, every review gives me the inspiration to come out with a new chapter! :D


	6. Chapter 5: Clues to Insanity

Elzabeth let out a deep breath, closing her eyes as she held the ledger in her hand firmly. She couldn't believe she was tasked with such a daunting mission such as this, yet it had to be done. There was no one else that could possibly break the news to William without the potential of dying. The ivory haired reaper drummed her fingers nervously on the ledger, biting her bottom lip before opening her eyes.

It was now or never.

The door opened with a small click, and she stepped inside before shutting it behind her. William looked up from his daily mountain of paperwork, the infamous crimson reaper in a chair next to him with his feet on the desk as he filed his ruby-red nails.

"Oh? Why if it isn't Willy's little mini-me~" crooned the effeminate man, batting his eyelashes with a face-splitting Cheshire grin, though he did not look up at her. His only received reply was a small snort.

"Ms. Spears…May I inquire as to why you come unannounced?" William arched a single eyebrow, laying his pencil down on the desk as he adjusted his glasses with his free hand.

Stopping before the supervisor's desk, Elzabeth held the ledger at her side with her left hand, right hand hanging freely as she spoke. "I come to report the disappearance of an officer and her trainee as of two days ago on November 25th." Inwardly, Elzabeth held her breath, watching as Grell's file stopped and two pairs of lime-green eyes widened and stared at her. "Rachel Goodwin and Hollis Harvey were reported missing after failure to return from the collection of Matilda W. Barnhart. The details are in here."

Then, she took a few steps forwards, handing William the ledger which was slowly taken by the hesitant supervisor. He set it on his desk, opening it slowly and looking at the report in deadly silence. Grell stood, looking over his shoulder with a nervous waver in his pupils.

"Were there any clues found at the reaping site?" William asked, not looking up from the ledger.

Elzabeth shook her head with a grim frown. "The site has yet to be investigated; we have been waiting for your approval."

"They've been gone for two days, and I just now get word of this?"

"We decided to wait one more day after we learned they were missing in the hope that they were simply goofing-off," informed the white haired officer, green eyes darting to the floor. "You are aware of our policies. Two days is the lenient time until a missing report is filed."

William sighed, closing his eyes and heavily closing the ledger with a gloved hand. "Reaper Sutcliff, we will investigate the location of disappearance. Officer Spears, please remain here and contact me if any new information comes into play. In the mean time, I trust you to keep things in order during my temporary absence."

Grell giggled, instantly maintaining his grand façade and wrapping his arms around William's neck. "Ah~ I'm going on an adventure with my dark prince~" Swooning over him, he rubbed his blushing cheek against the side of William's head like a cat begging for attention.

Too accustomed to the antics of the redhead, William merely stood, not caring even when the ginger's grip did not loosen and kept walking with the attachment of a madman. Elzabeth arched a single eyebrow as she watched them leave with a flicker of amusement in dual colored eyes. "I wish you luck, Mr. Spears."

William looked over his shoulder, their eyes meeting for but a moment as he nodded slowly. "Thank you," replied the ever stoic Shinigami, staying there for a few fleeting moments before he turned, ignoring the reaper literally hanging off his shoulder—red high heel boots barely skimming the ground.

Xxx

"Room 106, 5th floor, I believe this is the correct location," muttered the ravenette, testing the doorknob that was locked.

Grell peered over his boss's shoulder, smirking as he saw William's inability to open the door. "Hmm~ Apparently someone locked the door~ I wonder if this Matilda became Lady Desdemona and was smothered by her own heart and locked the door moments before her timely DEATH~!" he crooned, grinning wide with a mischievous countenance.

"Or perhaps the landlord locked it after discovering his tenant's death to protect it from thieves." William rolled his eyes, eyes scanning around the door in sign of a key. Naturally, they could have walked through the door to the other side, but if they walked through it and a mortal saw them, or they cloaked themselves and a mortal saw them disappear into thin air, it would be quite…well, it would have definitely cause them the overtime William dreaded. He didn't plan on leaving to cloak themselves and then come all the way back. It took too long. No reason to go to extremes unless necessary.

"Hehe, allow me, darling." Grell waved his hand dismissively, smirking as William stepped aside with a curious, yet deadly glare. Grabbing the bobby pin he always had on his person, he inserted it into the keyhole, fiddling with the locks inside before the door clicked. A sinister smile revealed his shark-like teeth as he took the pin away, turning the knob and opening the door. "Ta-da~"

William rolled his eyes, striding past his inferior companion without a word into the apartment that was much…much too perfect—at least, too perfect for an elderly lady's quarters. It reeked of death, and in the corner of his eye, he could see the open bedroom door and make out the form of a mangled corpse on the bed. "So they really didn't find her~ Poor girl~" crooned his ever-red subordinate, closing the door behind him as his eyes fell upon the same thing. "Let's hurry up, shall we, darling? It reeks in here."

"Of all people, I imagined you would have found the smell of death pleasant," commented he, adjusting his glasses with two fingers and entering the bedroom where the only light came from the open window framed with billowing, vanilla curtains. William stood besides the corpse, inspecting it with meticulous green and amber eyes as he leaned over it to get a closer look. His eyes fell upon the clean cut on the woman's throat only reapers could see. "Her soul is reaped."

"Well, at least we know that they didn't go missing until after Rae-dear took it~"

"That leaves us with a time frame. Between 11:07 that night and the mandatory check-in at midnight," he said, standing straight once more as he looked around the room for any signs of their missing officers.

"Anyone could have told you that, Will," scoffed the red reaper, looking at the white roses that were wilting on the dresser. "Hehe, but I bet you didn't know how much Rae's little minion loved flowers."

"Flowers?" William looked up from the inspecting of the chair near the bed, having found nail clippings beneath it.

Grell held up the flower Holly had held two nights ago, the flower falling apart and wilted to the point it looked as if it were two times older than all the other flowers in the vase. "Yes, flowers. Apparently, little Holly likes flowers of the…rose variety. Notice how old it looks, darling? It's clearly the touch of Death itself."

William took the flower with a scowl. There was a reason reapers wore gloves. No, they didn't wear them for style, but for the protection of living things as everything they touched that was living died. Hollis occasionally wore gloves were fingerless; therefore, when she touched it with her bare fingers, the flower wilted minutes later. "Indeed. Grell, take this to Ms. Easton, have it analyzed to the time of its death."

Taking the flower back, Grell nodded with a wide grin. "Of course darling, I was already planning to." He let the flower disappear into thin air to the alternate dimension in which reapers kept all things important.

The cold reaper turned back to his inspection, leaving to return to the living room and finding nothing wrong with it. And that was the biggest flaw. It was so perfect that it shouldn't have belonged. A slight coolness wrapped around him and there was the slight pricking feeling of goose bumps on his skin. _"Demon."_

At this, his red companion came in, eyebrows narrowed slightly with confusion. "I would have believed it would have left at least a trace of something, Willy. It's so perfect."

"Exactly. Too perfect." His eyes darted around the room, freezing on the only imperfection in the room: a single drop of blood…in between his feet. Crouching, the reaper touched it gently before he took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping at the blood and trying to at least get a sample on the white cloth since they could do a proper test of the blood in the apartment. He scrubbed at it until a few specks of dried blood stuck to the cloth, folding it neatly and putting it in his breast pocket. At least that would give them a DNA sample. "That shall be it for now, Sutcliff, come."

Obediently, Grell fell on his heels, trailing after William and making sure to lock the door behind him. "We could have just portaled back, darling. That would have been so much faster," commented the crimson reaper, quirking a trimmed, ginger eyebrow.

"I am certain someone would have seen us, Sutcliff, it would be suspicious if we never came out." William scoffed with simple irritancy as if he could not fathom his partner's overall incompetence.

"Not quite. They might begin to think we got a little…held up," Grell giggled, grinning as he winked at his superior and leaned against the taller man.

Scoffing, William moved his shoulder so the shorter fell sideways and broke contact between the two. "Only you would suggest such lewd things, Sutcliff. Honestly, if you actually got your head out of such ridiculous nonsense, you wouldn't be at the lowest point you could possibly be right now. It's sick and vulgar."

Still smiling, Grell brushed off the snide comment with a chuckle. "And if I did get my head out of such things, you wouldn't have a job, darling."

"The suggestion that you would steal my job so easily if you weren't a complete fool is just another thing to add to your list of insanities, Sutcliff," was all the ravenette said, keeping his pace brisk as he neared the doors to the apartment complex. Almost there…

"Oh? And what else is on that so-called _list?"_ he asked, quirking an eyebrow out of curiosity.

Rolling his eyes with an irate sigh, William adjusted his glasses as he spoke. "To begin with, you're rude, impolite mannerisms, tendency to become overdramatic and to interrupt, the embracing of your title of office slut, the idea tha-"

"_OFFICE SLUT_?! WHO THE HELL CALLED ME _THAT?!"_ snapped the redhead, glaring at the supervisor with a dangerous, low hiss.

"Nearly everyone in our department and division, Sutcliff. Don't deny it, I've walked in to one of your many _escapades_ before," snorted he, snickering with unkempt disgust.

Grell crossed his arms, gritting his teeth as his dual colored eyes found the ground. He didn't have the heart to say anything back, deciding to leave the conversation where it was, but William had other plans.

"If you really wish to get rid of such an obscene title then stop your revolting behavior and cease living on such a low level. It's disgusting."

"Cease living on such a low level? Even I wouldn't have stopped so low, Will. Oh, you sure can wound a lady~" he crooned, batting his long eyelashes with a pained grin and trying to play it off. He'd heard worse.

"Lady? I could add gender-confused to your list of insanities as well," he spat, glaring at his red companion out of the corner of his dual-colored eyes. "Honestly, I don't comprehend why you would make such an example out of yourself."

Eyes falling to the ground once more and an uncharacteristic frown on his pale lips, Grell sighed, falling silent the rest of their walk towards an alleyway. They had made a portal back to the reaper realm and split paths on the way as it was the end of Grell's shift anyways.

The normally zealous redhead let his crimson tresses fall in his face as he watched William step through the portal, turning his back once his superior was out of sight and making his way down the streets of London. It was late by now, and he looked up at the clear, starry sky with emotionless green eyes.

"Would it be right for me to _cease living_ on such a low level…?"

Xxx

**Author's Note:**

Hey~ my little minions, hehe. I said I wasn't going to post until Christmas. Well...obviously I'm a liar. I know a lot of you are itching to know who the 'mystery man of doom (from doomland)' is, but do not fret my little children :) For the man shall reappear in *drum roll*

**CHAPTER 7**

But, do not forget about chapter 6 (my next chapter), if you wish to find out what happens to poor little Grelly~

Anyways, I wrote this chapter and chapter 6 (which I shall be posting very soon) in celebration of Halloween. Because I want to post the glorious chapter 7 ON HALLOWEEN, therefore I have to post this chapter and chapter 6 in able to do so. Anyways, my theme song for this one was: Get Away With Murder by Jefree Star. It really isn't my favorite song, nor am I really big fan of it, but it really just seemed to fit this chapter so well. Ugh, I've actually been sick the last week or so with the stomach flu, and I'm sorry if this chapter really didn't meet your expectations. I'm just...not really in the mood to write right now, nor am I really good at this particular Author's Note, so I will just leave this at that.

PLEASE REVIEW! Because, my looking at past reviews today gave me the energy and strength I needed to write another chapter. You guys give me the incentive to keep going on and without reviews, I probably wouldn't have gotten past chapter 2. Thank you guys so much for everything. The more you guys review, the fast chapter 6 will come and the better chapter 7 will be.

How about I make a deal with you guys. If I can get at least 3 more favorites or 5 REVIEWS (meaning from 5 different people) I will give a PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION of one of the main evil characters in chapter 7. If I get 5 favorites or 7 reviews, I will tell you guys his name. How does that sound? Because I'm just dying to tell you guys. It might not be the man with cigar, but it is the man right under him. And if I tell you the man under the guy with the cigar, then I think it will be easier for you guys to figure out just who the mystery man really is. So, good luck to you guys. Just 14 days left, I hope you guys make it!


	7. Chapter 6: Bloody Reverie

He rested his forehead against the glass window in his dimly lit room. Because he could not see past the fog of his breath or the constantly falling droplets on his window from the ever constant London weather—his pale hand, now ungloved, resting near his head on the icy window—he simply peered at his own reflection. Grell could also make out the reflection of a flickering candle that rested on a stand besides the bed behind him.

Sometimes, he liked to imagine himself as the small, tiny flame on a candle wick. Despite its petite size and harmless façade, it could easily be the most dangerous thing in the world. If let to run wild, destruction and ashes it would leave in its wake—everything it touched set ablaze. However, it was contained—hanging on by a wick and slowly suffocating. The flame was slowly dying, trying to reach out for anyone—ANYONE—that would give it something to cling to. Something to live for. It was trapped in a world that was slowly closing in around it, choking and restraining it to the point of oblivion. This dull world of black and white Grell lived in was his candle wick—his prison. It was a world where they told him to live his life coldly…emotionlessly. But it wasn't who he was. They were closing in around him; his restraints were getting too tight. If he didn't find release soon, he would either die out like that hopeless candle flame, or combust in a fiery explosion.

Two lime-green pools looked up past the veil of unkempt crimson hair slightly hanging in his face, a drop of rain falling down the window to mirror the single, salty tear sliding down Grell's pale cheek. His hand left its cold perch, reaching behind him as he removed his head from the window, and he pulled out a ruby-handled knife he always carried. Holding it firmly, he used the top to slowly push up the white sleeve of his right arm. Like a curtain, it revealed the ivory skin scarred over time by numerous nights such as this one. His eyes were dulled, as if in a trance as he ran the flat edge of the blade against his wrist before pulling the knife away. Then, slowly, he gently placed his pale, plush lips over one of his many scars, leaving a faint kiss upon his wrist. Grell closed his eyes for but a moment, letting out a heavy sigh before finding the pleasure he found in pain. How he reveled in that beautiful red liquid, falling onto the scarlet floor like delicate rose petals, watching as his milky white skin was stained with blood—shivering with delight. On how he loved the nights like these, how it always ended the same way. Beautiful. Perhaps it was his mark of insanity, but he did not care. It kept him from the beds of the dirty whores and resorting to his previous routine of taking life in place of the one he could not have. Alcohol left too much of a hangover in the mornings, or made him lose his cherry-scented breath. No, there was nothing quite like this. It was…_intoxicating_. He loved the way the knife carved into his silken flesh, staining it with the complexion he looked so beautiful in. He loved the way the knife danced its way into his skin and made him crawl and gasp with delicious pain. It was so perfect to him. When he finally finished, he raised his mutilated wrist up, inspecting it like his captors studied paperwork, and then bathed his tongue to taste his sweet, sweet release. Like ecstasy in his mouth.

And then he stopped. A maddened grin split his bloodied lips stained red with his own essence, and a low sound emitted from his throat before a laugh escaped him and tumbled from his lips. The madman loved remembering just how sick he really was. "My darling Angelina, just how far have we fallen?"

Walking across the crimson carpet in his bare feet, and passing the chair that held his ribbon, vest, and coat, he took the small stashed cup and bottle of liquor from the drawer of his dresser and set it atop the oaken surface. Then, using his teeth, he uncorked the bottle and poured the golden substance until it was filled halfway. It was then he came up with a grand idea.

He picked up the knife he had set down while getting his drink and sliced into his wrist one more time before holding his wrist over the glass; Grell watched as the carmine blood fell into his drink, dispersing as it hit the surface. Flexing his hand, he watched as more drops fell, dying the gold with a vermilion hue.

_Perfection._

Licking his wrist clean, Grell smirked and then lowered his arm, picking up his drink with that insane glitter in his eyes. The redhead turned, walking towards the tall, standing mirror with a golden frame, and looked at his lithe form holding a glass in his left hand. Grell held the glass up with a small smile before devouring it greedily as he savored the burn and sweet taste on his tongue, melting with the metallic taste of blood. But it didn't last long; he craved more, yet he thought better of it as he set the glass aside and focused on his reflection.

Green eyes skimmed a thin body, watching as his chest moved with every breath, looking at the elegant curves of his body that made him seem oh so feminine. For a moment, he wondered how anyone could possibly revile it, constantly…deny it with the attention it craved—the attention it needed. Quickly throwing it out of his mind, he shook his head. No, they all secretly wanted it, he knew they did. But he wouldn't let them because…it was his. They couldn't touch it, they couldn't possess it. It was all his and no one else's. This was his darkest secret: the romance with himself. Deft fingers slowly slid buttons between cloths, his eyes watching as pale, porcelain skin revealed itself with every button undone. His marvelous effeminacy showed with his lithe, small body. Stomach flat yet firm and arms slight muscular (though not to the point of masculinity) he could have passed as a woman; he was just so beautiful, and he knew it with an overwhelming confidence.

The woman, trapped in a man's body, held her head high, white shirt slipping from her broad shoulders onto the floor. Then she continued the meticulous undressing of herself until she stood there, nude, looking at herself with her dual colored eyes.

"How beautiful we are, Angelina…" he whispered, closing his eyes and letting his hands glide across his pale skin shamelessly. He turned his head away, a single digit tracing a thin vein down his neck, slowly getting rougher and digging deeper into his skin with a recently manicured nail the farther his hand went. Allowing his hands to wander where they pleased, his mind a clean slate, he tried to block out the mental images attempting to resurface. Even now, he could still feel their greedy hands and touches, caresses etched into his soul. He could hear their voices in his head. Ghosts of wet lips brushed his flesh and those hands fluttering over his skin, brushing over his body as if it were the wing of a butterfly; but, he was missing his perfect other half, and now he was trying to fill the void with himself. Nevertheless, the morning after always reminded him how pointless this was. He was a one-winged butterfly burning away its time and stranded on a candle wick.

However, this truth wasn't enough to stop him. These nights were his getaways, he could never get enough—they were his escape from reality. Grell needed his release, regardless of how he got it or how it came. Whether or not it came as blood or something much more lewd, it did not matter to him. The results were the same.

Collapsing backwards onto his bed, he looked towards the window, eyes half-lidded and lips slightly parted to reveal a glimpse of shark-like teeth. As he blinked slowly, breath hitching in his throat, he remembered the events of today.

"_If you really wish to get rid of such an obscene title then stop your revolting behavior and cease living on such a low level. It's disgusting." _

Well, it hadn't been the worst William had ever said, but it was the only thing that stuck in his mind at the moment, tormenting him endlessly as he found himself on the edge. Words like those haunted his dreams, commanded his fears, and ruled his existence. Deep down, he felt in some mad way that this was the only way he controlled himself anymore. Though in the end, it proved nothing—absolutely nothing.

Only his fall from sanity.

But what was sanity anymore?

Occasionally he resulted in biting his hands and tearing his veins open with his fingernails. In protest, his body would shrivel up like knotted strings and his consciousness would fade to sweet nothingness. Then, he would wake up the next day with only a few scars.

Immortality was a curse.

Their bodies may have been created to last an eternity, but their _minds_ weren't.

Naturally, there were ways even Death could die, yet…he was too afraid to face the unknown. He had felt death before. Grell could still hear his own muffled screams, his lungs feeling as if they were about to burst, barely clinging to a thread until…

The redhead relaxed, filthy hand now resting besides his head as he panted, trying to find his breath again. Green eyes watering, he felt pitiful. No, he wouldn't cry, he wouldn't lower himself any further. In the morning, perhaps he would try to rationalize what he had done, and that could be a time for great sorrow.

Shakily, he sat up, crawling to his pillows and blowing out the flame with ease. Grell then lay down, curling up beneath a red comforter; finally, he closed his eyes for the last time that night and whispered into the darkness.

_"Good night, Angelina…"_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

HEY! I figured out how to put a horizontal line thingy in my story ^^ See it? Bask in its gloriousness mwahahahahahahahhahahahahahaha!

Um...yep. There's my randomness again, just...ignore it...

Anyways, WOOT! Two chapters in two days, this way I can start working on my chapter 7 début so I can publish that sucker by Halloween woo-woo! :)

This chapter is probably the darkest, most insane, and messed up I think I have EVER done in my like my ENTIRE LIFE *echo, echo*. My goal was to make Grell as emotionally unstable and crazy as possible, but not so far gone to the point of no return (Phantom of the Opera reference...I feel like a nerd. Yes, I love opera, don't judge me. I'm sorry that you're just not a cool as me...Okay, I think I'm just making myself look even stupider (is that even a word?) Back to the note). I'm sorry all you little Grelly fans out there if you hate me for what I'm doing to Grell, but I just thought that this was probably the most accurate I could get to his character actually. From my perspective, he's just how I imagined his character to be. I mean, look at the way he looks at his own blood. He's self-centered, insane, blood-crazy, and pretty dang sexy at the same time.

Also, I got a question the other day about why I use things like the f bomb in some of my stories, but in my notes and in real life I have never cursed like ever. I can't even say the h, e, double hockey sticks. Well, I really don't believe in cussing, even though I am atheist. It's just the way I was raised and I believe the closest I have ever gotten to a cuss word was: shut up and stupid. I began writing my stories with things that were censored like: h*ll. But then people got mad at me, so I just decided to put the whole word in there for the sake of the story. I always put my character before myself, it's my author motto really. In retrospect, I don't think I've ever put my own feelings before what I think Yana Toboso and FUNimation would portray Grell as. Before I write a chapter, I always try to get the characters as accurate to their original selves, as we all know that I do not own Grell, William, Ronald, Undertaker, or any other character of Kuroshitsuji.

Awww, this is supposed to be a note, not an autobiography of myself. This chapter was 1,740 words before I wrote this note ROFL. Anyways, my theme song for this was:

Je T'aime by Lara Fabian. Yes, this song is french, but songs and music, I think, are one of the few things in the world that don't need language to make them portray a feeling. I have almost NO IDEA what this song is saying, and I only know what I know because I GOOGLED IT, yet I STILL cry over it. I can't tell you how many tear drops are on my paper that I have this chapter written out on. Like...so many I had to rewrite it to read it (not really, but it was a lot). It's really such a beautiful song, and if you haven't heard it yet, FRICKING YOUTUBE IT!

Thank you :)

Have a wonderful day.


	8. Chapter 7: Deal With the Devil

"_Rachel Goodwin." _

The sound of her name roused her from her thoughts, lifting her head from the curled up position against the wall. She was trapped in a glass box—the only wall without glass the floor beneath her feet. Around the room, the only things she had was a bed, sink, toilet (surrounded by a wall to allow her some privacy), a table and one chair, and a small slot for food to be sent through. All white. Her eyes were ringed with black from sleep deprivation, giving her the appearance of a thief or a raccoon. Clad in a white hospital gown, stripped of her scythes, and placed in a holding cell, she'd built a fury inside her the past four days of her captivity. Resentment towards—

"There you are, Ms. Rachel. Always good to see a beautiful face," commented a man clad in black with snow-white hair and blood-red eyes. His hair swept to the side to partially cover his right eye, and it was cut at the nape of his neck. The albino wore a simple black, high collared jacket and black trousers.

A menacing glare was shot his way as Rachel looked at him from her bland imprisonment. "Now, now, you should please the hand that feeds you. Otherwise, the consequences may be unfortunate."

Rachel snorted, rolling her eyes indignantly. "Did you get that off a movie? Sorry, _Snowflake_, I don't 'swing' your way."

Unable to help a smirk, the albino chuckled, "Quite the feisty thing you are. But tell me, do you not swing to my gender or my species?"

"Both, dipstick."

At this, the man couldn't help but laugh, revealing a set of glistening white fangs. Rachel merely stood, snickering at the demon with disgust as she looked at her reflection in her glass container.

"Haha, Ms. Rachel, you have an amusing personality. I shall have most fun being your _caretaker_ these next few weeks of your stay." The man offered a polite smile, though it was unrequited.

"Caretaker or babysitter?" she mumbled, running her hand through disheveled locks of brown hair—the red streak in her bangs starting to fade.

A small chuckle tumbled from his lips as he watched his supernatural captive with growing interest. "Caretaker. I'll leave the creeps downstairs to babysit. Your blue-haired friend has become their favorite."

Without warning, the brunette had crossed her cell in a blink of an eye, hand flying out of the slot where her food was delivered to wrap around the demon's neck and slam his face forwards into the glass with a squirt of blood—holding him there with a deadly grip. Through a venomous hiss, the reaper pressed her face against the glass to stare down the wide, frightened red eyes peering back at her. "You let them touch a single hair on her head, and I will find you. And I swear…I shall kill you wherever you stand."

The albino gasped as he was let go, and then he stumbled backwards, leaving a blood smear on the glass where his nose had been forced into it. "Sh-shit!"

He clutched his newly broken nose as he glared at the reaper looking back at him with a cold, steady countenance. "Damn bitch!"

Rachel only smirked, turning her neck to the demon as she walked towards her plain white bed and lay down. "Give my regards to that back-stabbing bastard you work for." Giving a mock salute, she let out a tiny chuckle as she heard the angry footsteps and slamming of a heavy, metal door.

Alone at last.

Alone with a problem: Hollis.

Her two-toned gaze focused on the ceiling before she let out a deep breath and closed her eyes.

"Don't worry. I'll find you, Hollis. I promise."

Xxx

"Yes, she would be the perfect subject."

A woman in a white trench coat looked from the window above Rachel's cell, her lips caught in an ever-stoic frown. Behind her stood four pairs of glowing red eyes and one set of dual-colored irises (green and yellow)—a set of green and yellow irises to match her own. The man with the cigar was standing behind her on the left, looking from their balcony that was no more than a pitch black box overhanging the room that contained Rachel Goodwin's box. A single window allowed them to watch their captive with amusement, the doctor holding all of her emotions in her lime-green eyes as a select few chuckled at the display they had just witnessed.

"Snuff that out, you know I can't tolerate smoking," growled the woman, glaring back at the man whose cigar was the only source of light in the dark room.

"Yes, milady." Obediently, he took one last draw before sticking it in his ash tray as he let smoke roll out from his nose.

She turned, lab coat fluttering behind her as she left the pitch-black box into the bright white hallway with the simple turn of a knob and opening of a door. The man and those with red eyes followed her in loyal silence.

"Belile, see to Mr. Cain. I would hate it if I had to lose another caretaker because of their intolerance to a new patient," she said, waving her hand dismissively; the woman never bothered to even look over her shoulder.

A boy with black hair nod, red eyes fearful of this woman in front of them all. He bowed, letting the others walk on without him before scampering off to help the demon with a broken nose.

The woman scoffed, adjusting her glasses as she started down the flight of stairs. "You are certain our newest patient will be loyal?"

"Absolutely. Completely submissive," admitted the man with the cigar, clasping his hands behind his back as he followed his boss down the stairs.

The woman nodded, opening a door after she unlocked the door with a simple swipe of her ID card. It lead to a dimly lit room, the only light coming from the glass door across the room. Her high heels clicked on the floor before it died down as she came to a stop and swiped her card over another scanner. The scanner beeped, door hissing as she opened it to reveal a large white laboratory. People in white suits and coats roamed the room, all on various missions. They remained inferior to this group of four, and no one dared to look at them in the eye. It was like the red sea; a wave of people parted in front of them, leaving a path to a door taped with CAUTION and DO NOT ENTER signs. For the final time, the woman swiped her card and opened the door as the small group of four stepped inside.

It was a prison for her lab rats.

A white corridor seemed to go on forever, cells nothing more than white nine-by-nine rooms with a single, glass wall facing inwards towards the plain hallway. Each cell was nothing more than a bed, a toilet, and single roll of toilet paper. Lining the glass walls were touch-screen pads—one for each cell to display the statistics of its appointed prisoner.

Green-yellow eyes darted up from every cell as the woman passed. Some narrowed into deadly, malevolent glares, others widened and wavered with incalculable fear, and others were simply blank stares, void of any life or spirit—broken stares reflecting the broken minds of their owners.

All but one set of dual-colored eyes.

Hollis Harvey didn't look up, huddled in the corner of her room on her bed and crying with fear. Where was she? Where was her mentor? Was she even coming for her? Did she even care? The young Shinigami was frightened, scared and alone in her cell as she shook with silent sobs—tears hidden in her hands. They were playing with her, torturing her. It had only been four days, but it felt like an eternity in this actual ephemerality.

The woman in her white lab coat peered steadily at the sobbing reaper as she typed in the four-digit code to open the sliding glass door into the room. As the doorway opened, Hollis looked up with wide, frightened eyes before trying to make out who it was. Her glasses had broken when they'd taken her, leaving her blind in this terrifying world she was trapped in.

"Take her," commanded the woman, gesturing forwards as the three pairs of glowing red eyes stepped into the room.

She could not scream, for she did not remember how as she fought against them feebly. The blue-haired reaper had not been fed, already deteriorating despite her status as an immortal goddess of Death—realizing she was not as immortal as they had once told them. The daily testing they did upon her helpless being told her they were likely just as frail as humans.

Nevertheless, she was over-powered, hands handcuffed behind her back as they forced her to her feet, and the tiny Hollis was lead out of her room. It was nothing but a white blur to her, green and yellow eyes darting about the hallway they lead her down. Everything happening to Hollis reminded the young reaper of a dog going on a long walk—naïve, not knowing what to expect, but barely managing to follow obediently wherever her masters lead her.

After four days of her imprisonment, however, she knew exactly where they were going to: the room with the silver table. She could hear the heavy metal door opening, feel the hands pushing her down onto a cold, silver blur before uncuffing her hands. Like a ritual, she always fought the moment her hands were free. This time she'd managed to leap across the table, grabbing one of the syringes and managing to stab one of the figures with red blurs on their faces. It did nothing to them as they managed to restrain her again, pushed back down onto the table as she tried to fidget from their grips. Cold, metal clasps locked around her wrists and ankles as the hands left, leaving her completely helpless to whatever they'd do to her today.

Taking a deep breath, her eyes darted around the room for the blur of purple, white, and green that always came to see her before the torture began. Hollis could see her from where she lay, trying to mouth a silent plea that was usually ignored.

Then there began those slow, steady footsteps towards her as heavy boots marched her direction. She would know that voice anywhere as it spoke to her—that slight Cockney accent and smell of clover brushing her ear. "Good morning, Ms. Harvey. Always good to see a young recruit working hard. Have you been a good girl today?"

A single, salty tear fell down her cheek, whimpering as she flinched under the large hand touching her cheek. "Shhh, shhh, it's okay, Ms. Harvey. Ladies shouldn't cry." A thumb ran along her high-cheekbone, brushing away the single tear and smearing it on her pale skin. "Do you know who I am?" Hollis nodded slowly, her throat choked up as more tears of complete fear welled up in her eyes. "Then you know I will always be watching if you step out of line. You see, my friend here thinks you will be a great asset to us. Can we trust that you will be _completely_ loyal?"

Hollis hesitated, squinting slightly at the blur of yellow, black, and green that hovered above her like a giant. She knew she couldn't trust this man now, but she had before. Why couldn't she learn to trust him again? After all, he was the one who had given her so much, offered her redemption at life and placed her upon the list of future reapers after she'd died at the age of fifteen. She was nothing special, even as a human or reaper. She had been nothing more than a small apprentice seamstress with a strange hair color and the inability (or unwillingness) to speak. That also led to another problem: how would she find Rachel? How would she be able to escape this and tell her coworkers they were being round up like animals and treated like rats? Only a select few could speak sign-language, and she trusted only one of them:

_William T. Spears._

No, it wouldn't work. He was too loyal to this man standing above her, threatening to have his way with her again like he had done once in just these past four days. She couldn't stand it, she had to get out. No matter what they asked her to do, as long as that meant a chance to find her mentor again. With a reluctant nod, Hollis gulped and bit her lip as another tear fell—a tear of shame.

"Alright. Caesar, free her, we can talk about the terms of her _surrender_ to the cause over a cup of tea. Come on now, no need to be uncivilized," said the man, clapping his hands as a demon stepped forwards, uncuffing Hollis with a sneer as the reaper slowly sat up.

Hollis sniffled, wiping away her tear with wrists burned and reddened from the cuffs they used on her soft, delicate skin daily. In physical appearance, she was the same age she had died: fifteen. Her blue hair that hadn't grown an inch was now matted and sticking in every direction as she tried to calm herself and look at least a little more presentable. The man put his large hand on her gown-clad back, guiding her gently off the table with the strangest subtle gesture of kindness she had seen in the last four days of living hell. It made her feel safe, like she could trust him again, and she found herself hiding her face in his chest (more like his stomach or ribs with their enormous difference in height) in a childish gesture of seeking comfort. Two strong arms gave her that comfort for but a few moments before they left, gently taking her by the shoulders and starting to slowly push her away.

"Now, now, that was very unladylike. Let us get you cleaned up, Ms. Harvey. You know you always need to look your best for business," he said, wrapping an arm around her with a sly smirk as he guided her towards the door.

Hollis knew that she shouldn't…this man had kidnapped her and her mentor and stolen much more than her virginity. But what choice did she have? He was offering a way out of this hell…Was it worth it to make a deal with the devil? _'Yes_,' she decided, her mentor needed her. It was only temporary; she could find a way out.

Right?

Xxx

They sat in a bland office, a single desk in the middle of the grey room and screen making up the northern wall—the screen made to look like a window looking over London. Hollis sat on the opposite side of the black oak desk from the man with the cigar. She was clad in her former uniform once again, playing with the rose button on her fingerless gloves, a present from another coworker by the name of Chester Lee Smiths for Christmas just last year. The scars were hidden beneath the clothes that hid most of the skin on her body. However, they would always remain in her mind; she would always know where they were…that she carried them. They were her newfound burden, a burden she never wanted to ever have. Perhaps in a few years, decades, even centuries, she would let someone else see those scars, but now she couldn't even stand the thought of being touched. It was a reminder of the hell she had just endured, and she wanted no part in it. Now she could relate to the stores Rae had once told her about the brunette's mentor, Grell Sutcliff. About his nightmares of ghosts of hands gliding across his skin and touching him in ways Hollis would never dream of. Or could she? After what the man had done to her, how he had looked at her like a conquest, a meal, and took her against her will. She'd kill him. Despite her gentle nature, that sick, disgusting man was the man she would reap vengeance upon someday. No one else, she wouldn't let anyone else have him.

In the corner of the room she could make out the form of a demon, the one that hand uncuffed her. If she remembered correctly, 'He' had called him Caesar. He being the man with the cigar that chewed on that clover-scented stick in his mouth; the tip burned as he drew in a breath and exhaled smoke from his nose. The demon was unlike any other demon she had ever met. He was tall, handsome with short, thin silver strands for hair and eyes so red she wondered for a moment if the man could have cried blood. Like the man, Caesar was clad in black suit, though it was unbuttoned to reveal a silver waistcoat and tie over a white dress shirt. His arms were crossed over his chest, watching her intently as she turned her attention back to the man in front of her—gazing solely at the man across the desk from her.

Martin Riesenberg.

"Ms. Harvey," he began, meeting her gaze calmly as he leaned back in his chair, "we both know you're very smart lass. I've heard you scream before, so that rules out mental problems or vocal deformities. Therefore, I must conclude that you have selective mutism. Am I correct?"

Hollis gave a shy nod, watching the other warily, but at the same keeping sight of Caesar in the corner of her eye. He had given her no reason to trust him, especially after all he'd done. She couldn't afford to let her guard down. Green eyes met green eyes, neither wavering as they watched each other skeptically.

Martin held a cocky smirk on his face, cigar pushed to the corner of his mouth as he spoke. "So, that leaves you with a simple choice. You see, Ms. Harvey, we are running a very delicate operation here. If word gets out, you'll lose that pretty little head. Also, I do believe we have something in our possession you want. Right again?"

Hollis tensed, eyes narrowing as she balled her gloved hands into fists; Caesar merely smirked were he stood.

"For such a small, innocent thing, you can have quite the temper. I like that about you, Hollis, it is a very…_sexy_ trait to have. Don't worry; we haven't harmed a hair on her head…yet. What happens to her rests solely on your shoulders, Ms. Harvey," explained the giant reaper, blowing smoke through slightly parted lips as he snuffed out his cigar in an ash tray. "I would hate it if she received the same treatment you have experienced during your stay with us. We are not barbarians, I would prefer if you did not anger me and those who run our intricate program."

Standing, Martin walked across his office to stand in front of the glass window that was actually a screen imitating a window overlooking London. "Now, down to business. Naturally, I shall not open the details of our goal to you, but I believe I should shine some light as to what you'll be doing.

"In return for the protection of Rachel E. Goodwin, your mission is quite simple. Over the course of the next two months, I want you to form a list of the top sixty officers you think are the most loyal to the British Dispatch. I want a detailed report on the top twenty. Their dreams, their hopes, their fears, what they eat, how they eat it, how they walk, how they talk, their daily routine, even their favorite color—I want to know everything. Your job, in sense, is to choose sixty and stalk twenty. Sixty days should be enough. This should be a simple task for you. Do you understand?"

The nod he received was slow and unsure. Hollis could not quite contemplate why such things dealt with what they were doing. In fact, she didn't even know enough to know _what _they were doing. There was just one person in her mind: Rae.

Sure, her mentor was usually nonchalant, laid back, even frustrating at times, but it was against the blue reaper's nature to leave someone she cared about behind. She's give her life for any of them—William, Grell, Elzabeth, Chester, Ronald, even that cranky nurse, Brooke Easton, who was far worse than William or Elzabeth could _ever_ dream to be. Anyone she'd ever met, she had a childish attachment to—permanently stuck at fifteen. Just like Elzabeth was forever sixteen (technically, as it was nine years until after her death, at seven years old, that she stopped growing). Perhaps time had made them age in the mind, but never in their hearts. That was the one thing, Hollis believed, no one could ever take away from them. Well, unless someone like, literally ripped it from their chests and- NO! No, no, no, no, no! She couldn't think about that. She had to focus on the task at hand!

"Good. I like you, Ms. Harvey. Do not make me regret the faith I have in you," he muttered, nodding his head towards Caesar who was standing near the door.

Hollis, thinking it was her cue to leave, stood and bowed towards the other reaper. She then turned, heading towards the door when she heard his voice behind her. "I hope you enjoy your nap, Miss Hollis."

The last thing Hollis saw was the pale hand balled into a fist coming towards her face and those dark crimson eyes. Then…there was nothing.

Martin snickered at the Shinigami on the floor. "Caesar, you didn't have to make such a mess. I expect you to cleanse the blood off my carpet."

"I apologize, Master. It shan't happen again." Caesar bowed, turning to pick the young girl up off the floor.

The blonde Shinigami looked back towards the screen, polychromatic eyes meticulously running over every line and crevice of the image before him. "You know, the things we look for the most we can never find. Isn't it strange how we can find more things accidently than we can purposefully?"

Caesar looked over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow as he paused to gaze curiously at the Death God standing nearby. "Sir?"

"Nothing, Caesar. Do not mind my ramblings. I was merely thinking about out deal," he murmured, sighing heavily.

Caesar frowned deeply, vermillion eyes narrowing. "You will tell me where he is, Martin, otherwise you won't have our support."

"I wouldn't dream of having doubts, Lu-" Martin was cut off by the vehement snarl directed towards him as a warning not to utter the true name of the demon that served him. Adjusting his tie, the reaper corrected himself. "Caesar. When you finish your end of the deal, I will tell you where Cassius is."

Caesar hissed, eyes glowing orange as his pupils narrowed into reptilian slits. "What makes you think I won't continue working for you after I've found him?"

"Because I know you, Caesar, my dear king. Power is your greatest lust, o' demon of pride. Your ego will be your downfall. Cassius is just as strong as you, Caesar. Surprise was the only thing that killed him last time. He's _the_ Angel of Death, I'm afraid I will lose my most valuable asset should you confront him before it's over," explained the blond.

"I'M AS STRONG AS HE IS?!" he snapped, taking a threatening step forwards. "I KILLED HIM! I AM STRONGER! HIS HEAD ROLLED DOWN THE HILL FROM THE BANE OF MY BLADE! I AM THE KING OF DEMONS! IF IT WASN'T FOR THE GODS, THAT BASTARD WOULD STILL BE DEAD AND I WOULDN'T BE CAST AWAY! I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE ON THE GODS BY KILLING HIM FIR-!"

"Not yet you won't." Caesar was silenced by the long handled axe held horizontally towards the demon's throat; the edge pressed against Caesar's tender flesh. "Our deal was the service to our cause from you and the demons of hell in exchange for the location of Cassius Montgelle _after_ we completed our task. Not before."

Martin lowered his Death Scythe, letting it dissipate into thin air as he stared coldly at the demon to his right—the screen to his left. Caesar, in turn, bowed humbly with a most displeased scowl. "Please forgive my arrogance, _Master_."

"You are forgiven, Caesar. Please, continue what you were going to do with Miss Hollis. Make sure there is no link between us and them. You know where to place her; you only have two hours left. Do not be late," instructed the blonde, nodding towards the unconscious figure on the floor.

Bowing towards the Shinigami in front of him, Caesar turned, picking Hollis up obediently before leaving Martin alone in the plain office.

Martin turned, looking at the screen of London with an almost serene countenance before tapping on the image with his the forefinger of his right hand. Beneath his finger was a building with a purple sign…adorned with spider webs as if it had been abandoned for years.

"You think you can hide, Cassius, but we will find you. We will _always_ find you."

Xxx

This is the longest chapter I have written in my entire life. Well, that's a lie. My longest chapter was like 6,000 words, but it could have been split into two chapters if I wanted it to be. Just like this one. I could have kept doing my 2,000 word per chapter thing, and then I looked at all of the people on fanfiction. The greats like Lord Onisyr, StickieBun, and Maverrat who are putting out stories with 4,000 words per chapter. They'd have nearly 300,000 words a STORY. That is my goal, to make this like a book. Somewhere around 30-60 chapters and 300,000 words. I'm already at 20,000 and I'm only on chapter 7 (8 if you count the prologue). That means I'd have to have 105 chapters to make it. So, I'm going to make my chapters long like this one. Yes, it may take longer to post new chapters, but I believe it is worth it to reach my goal. A writer's job is to entertain both themselves and their audience. They not only have to enjoy it, but they have to be good enough for others to enjoy it as well. That is my own philosophy. If you believe you aren't good enough to be a writer, let someone else be the judge of it. But, I will tell you this thing: I used to think I was literally the worst writer on planet earth. I wouldn't let a single person read anything that I wrote. And then I got to 6th grade, and my teacher told me something that gave me the inspiration to truly chase my dream. She looked at my story I wrote, and she then looked me in the eye and said: "You have a talent. There's a long way to go, and a lot of improvement to make. You might not always achieve your goals, and that's okay. Life is filled with mistakes, don't be afraid to make them. Don't be afraid to share them with others. I know with hard work and determination you can go a long way. I can tell you will go miles and miles, but you can't go far if all you do is hide behind a notebook and close the door to others. A writer is nothing without three things: a mind, a heart, and the willingness to please others. If this is what you want to do, write something every day, and lock it in a box. By the end of this year, open the box and read the first paper you ever wrote and the last. And you'll notice a difference. People are always changing, and you can only go up from here. Chase your dreams, don't give up. I believe in you."

She retired that year.

I will never forget her or her words, and she gave me the inspiration to continue what I love to do and to share it with other people. For all you people reading this who want to be writers, but never had the courage to let others in, copy that sentence and read it aloud to yourself. Let it inspire you like it inspired me. Let me be the person you'll never forget, even though you probably won't ever know me in real life. Hey, if I, a young girl who has yet to even graduate HIGH SCHOOL can accomplish this, I bet that you, the reader, will accomplish great things if you just TRY.

Enough of my little monologue there.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! I know a lot of you have been waiting for this chapter for a pretty long time. Like...since this first came out in MARCH. It's been like...7 months. And guess what, we have SEVEN (technically, 8) chapters! I might not post for a while, but by Christmas, we will have 2 more chapters. My plan is to post one on Thanksgiving, and one on Christmas. Also, there will be an exciting new twist with Elzabeth (we all love William's little mini-me!...at least I do) in the next chapter. No, no, it's not the RonaldxElzabeth like we all want to see, but it might hint towards it. Also, if you guessed Martin Riesenberg on the poll on my page, you were right, clap your hands, do a dance, whatever. Here's your prize *throws muffin at you*. And now a lot of you are mad because you just found out he isn't the one actually running the thing. Too bad, that probably won't be revealed for a little while, but I'll make sure to throw plenty of hints at you along the way ;)

First of all, I want to say thank you to PrimeLaughter for doing all the editing and revising for my past chapters. She's been a HUGE help to everything that I do, and I doubt this story would be any good without her. So give a hand to her. Second, I want to thank crazigirl for allowing me permission to use her cute little OC Chester who shall become much more important in later chapters and will make his debut performance in chapter 9. So look forwards to that. Finally, I want to say thank you to everyone who favorited my story. You guys are the reason I keep writing and especially thank you to crazigirl and Riannedogs for constantly giving me the reviews that make my chapters come so much faster. If I get at least 3 more reviews by Thanksgiving, I will give you guys 2 more chapters instead of one.

Alright, enough of my ramblings, I look forwards to the next chapter like I think you all do to. Happy Halloween~


	9. Chapter 8: A Prison of Thorns

_"How did you do it?"_

They kept asking the same question. Marie didn't have their answer. All she had wanted to do was live. Couldn't they see she didn't know?

As the reaper of her soul collected the records of her dying body, the reels of her life couldn't be tamed by the reaper's scythe. Instead, they twisted and turned, glowing so bright the reaper couldn't see before it all dimmed down and revealed the tiny child-black hair now white and brown eyes green rimmed with gold. She'd turned herself into a reaper. There was only one reaper in history that had done so: Death himself. Legends say it was a gift from the gods as a chance at another life. The story of the Legendary Death was known by every reaper and it went:

'_In the beginning, the gods sent three angels to the surface to watch over the humans. They were known as Black, Silver and White or Dawn, Dusk and Day._

_As time passed, they were introduced to the other angels later sent to the surface. But the most beautiful of them all was a goddess named Moon. All three brothers—Black Silver and White—fell in love with her. However, Moon was married to Night, and it was Night who kept her away from all three siblings. Day understood that she could not be obtained, and he soon found a lover in Sun. Dawn and Dusk were not so easily swayed. Being the most creative of the three, Dusk took rays from Sun and lit fires in the clouds every evening to distract Night._

_He did this every night, and the two lovers met in secret during their short time Night was distracted on top of a hill beneath an oak tree. They were soon to be wed when Black discovered their secret. He informed Night, who killed Moon and hung her from the sky on her wedding night as punishment for her disloyalty. Silver found her body, and as he grieved over it, Dawn beheaded him._

_Black was later tried for his crimes and banished to the underworld to bathe in his loathing and sin whilst the gods bestowed upon Dusk a new life. However, also knew that he had committed a great crime for loving a married woman, so they reprimanded him by taking away his sight and emotions so that he could never love again nor let his feelings o'ercome his judgment of the souls in which he would be cursed to ferry for all eternity.'_

Because of this legend, many were starting to believe that this new reaper, one who had resurrected herself (possibly by the will of the gods themselves), was quite special indeed.

Now Marie was seated at the end of a table, glasses perched upon her nose from her new lack of vision. The room was all white, minus the suits worn by men (and one woman) sitting along the table.

"Ms. Francis, we need an answer!" A man with blonde hair slicked back stood up and banged his fists on the table.

"Supervisor Geier! Sit down!" snapped another reaper, his voice heavy with a German accent. "We did not bring you here from Berlin to intimidate the child." The man scoffed, glaring at the blonde named Clayton Geier as the supervisor sat down.

"Mr. Baasch," said a bland voice. The man, who was the Director of the German Dispatch, reared his head to look at the man who had spoken, sitting besides Martin Riesenberg, whose black hair was slicked back—William T. Spears. "I believe, based on the analysis of procured evidence, that this particular reaper cannot _tell_ us any answers. If we wish upon obtaining these answers then I suggest we observe young Francis. The resolutions may lie in what has yet to be seen."

"Who is he to speak out at the meeting of the board of directors?" hissed Clayton with a deadly snarl.

"Who are you to speak-eh, Geier? Are you no' a supervisa as well-eh?" The only woman in the room spoke with an Italian accent. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a bun, and loose strands fell around her heart-shaped face like a frame.

Clayton was about to speak when Mr. Baasch held up a hand to silence him. "Mr. Spears, I do believe I concur with your beliefs. As this was your suggestion, I shall assign you as Miss Francis' caretaker. Should you have any problems, I believe the Italian Director, Ms. Knox, has held that position before. Am I correct?"

Felicianna Knox nodded, nudging a loose blonde hair from her eyes. "Yes, my son works under Mr. Spears."

"Then it is decided, Mr. Spears will preside over Ms. Francis-Spears until she becomes of age to attend the Academy where she shall become an officer of the Dispatch. Are we all in agreement?" The German looked around, and he blinked as many nods rippled throughout the room—all except three. William T. Spears, Clayton, Marie Francis, were among those three. "I bid the day finds you all well, gentlemen…and gentlewoman. Until next time, I shall bid all of you adieu. Good day."

As Mr. Baasch stood, the other directors and supervisors stood and bowed to the German Director. In a single file, they all left until only three remained.

"Aye, Will, good luck with the little squirt. I'll get Sutcliff to cover your shift so you can settle her in. It is gonna be a long nine years," Martin said, patting William's shoulder as he turned to leave.

"Thank you, Mr. Riesenberg. I appreciate your generosity." The ravenette bowed to his superior as the door closed behind Martin to leave the two reapers alone in the room.

Marie had stayed silent the entire time the meeting had been held. All she knew was that this man was going to take care of her for a very long time. She looked at him as he stood upright and met her gaze with an emotionless façade. They stayed like that for an excessive length of time, and neither of them moved until William sighed. He closed his eyes, adjusting his glasses before walking forwards and holding out his hand.

"Greetings, Ms. Francis. I am William T. Spears of the London Division under the British Dispatch. For approximately nine years, two months, one hundred and thirty-eight days I shall be responsible for every breath and action you take. Should you have any questions, feel free to ask."

Shyly, the girl looked at the hand and then at William before offering her own, tiny hand to the reaper standing above her. The supervisor shook her hand gently, wondering how on earth he could ever manage to care for a child. He wasn't ready for this. He never asked for this. However, he had no say in the matter. No questions, no hesitation, no remorse—he had to leave by these three morals, or he feared he would no longer be a Shinigami.

Xxx

Beautiful murals and colors blended together above and around Elzabeth. Her room was painted with a long mural on every wall except one. Her bed was in front of it perpendicular-wise. To the left of her bed was a small nightstand. Across the room was a dresser and to the right of that was a long closet. There were only two windows in her room; both were on the wall opposite of the door. Elegant, white curtains flowed to the ground, framing the window as a light breeze stirred them from the slight opening in the right window. Light poured into the dark room, causing its occupant to stir from her deep slumber.

Elzabeth groggily slid her eyes open, groaning as she rolled over and let the blue pillow beneath her hide her face from the world. The white reaper, every muscle heavy and fatigued, let out a tired sigh—another day of work.

With a small groan, she slowly rolled over once more and sat up as her eyes slowly adjusted to the light and scanned the room. Even through the cloud of sleep and her blurry vision, she knew exactly what lined the walls and ceiling of her bedroom; after all, she painted them. This room was her life, literally. It was a timeline of her nearly ninety-seven years of existence. Naturally, the mural wasn't that old; it wasn't until she was nearly seventy that she started to paint it. The timeline began on her left at the corner of the white wall and the mural. Delicate strokes of orange and yellow came together; the sun poured out its brilliant soul of hot oranges and reds into the clouds painted around it like a pot of molten lava. The tranquil clouds, so tenuous and thin, seemed almost as frail as its painter. However, these clouds all had one distinction from those one would usually see. They were white, veiled from the bleeding sun and dissimilar to everything. Elzabeth—they represented the reaper who stared intently at the mural for a moment. It was her beginning, the end of her mortal life and the beginning of her not-so-immortal life. Being young forever had its perks, but it wasn't forever. They told her it wouldn't be.

As she clambered out of bed, her bare feet brushing the soft white carpet, her pale hands searched the nightstand for her glasses. Wrapping around the spectacles, she picked them up carefully before using both hands to carefully slide them upon her face, watching as the world came into sharper focus.

The mural she was facing now was the one she hated the most, yet she knew it had to be there. Thorns like the claws of a falcon were running along a string of green that wrapped and coiled like a snake around its prey. It was a mess of brambles, choking and squeezing the life out of its victim. Elzabeth was the heart wrapped in those thorns, and it was the disease that was literally closing around her, suffocating her and constricting every breath she took. And with each withdrawal, the snake squeezed even tighter.

Those thorns embroidered the mural, they ran throughout her entire life. They were her life's story-the thing that controlled everything that she did-the thing that was..._her_.

Blue had always been her favorite color, but it was the green of stems and the red of thorns and the blood they drew that filled her white canvas of life. Blue had no say in her life, it was just a color in the sky-a place she could not yet reach. Thus, blue was rarely in her pictures. It was just an accent in the background. Blue was Elzabeth: a thing that had little place in the world. Why had they had such suspicion of her? Why did they think she was special? Did the directors know her fate? Of course they did, the directors knew everything. They were the head of the serpent named Dispatch, and, like a body, the parts beneath the head could never ask questions. Follow everything as instructed, without hesitation, with dignity, with competance, without emotion-that was their law. That was their life.

Standing now, the reaper trudged across the floor towards the closet full of clothes. As she pulled open the sliding, wooden door (painted white), she reached in to grab her usual white and black uniform she wore to work on a daily basis. However, her hand brushed the fabric of one of the many dresses she never wore. Some were from friends on her birthday, others were from the many shopping expeditions she had been dragged onto with Grell and Rae, and the others were the ones she started to buy herself. Seldom would she take one of those dresses from their perch on a hanger and walk over to the mirror on the other side of the closet in the corner to put it on and admire herself for only a few moments. The dresses never left her home, and she'd never been caught in one before. So why keep the dresses? Perhaps it was the memories of the people that might have cared about her, or the places she went to get them (some of them from the few friends she held dear). Maybe it was because of her limited time left that she was trying to find the perfect dress to wear in her final rest. Whatever the reason, she held them dear to her heart, and wouldn't give them up for the world.

Pulling her uniform from the closet, Elzabeth walked over to the mirror before she then began undressing herself in front of it. Her green and yellow eyes tried to avert the image, though she was forced to look when one of the buttons in her plain white pajama top became too difficult to do without seeing it. Those polychromatic depths fell upon what she believed to be a gruesome sight. Vines were snaked across her body in erratic patterns—twisted and gnarled in every direction. They weren't tattoos, but instead, they were beneath her skin like scars sticking up from the inside. They came up, every vine coming from the ends of her fingers or toes and pointing towards the heart they were targeting.

The Thorns of Death—she'd been diagnosed twenty years ago.

After twenty years, she'd managed to keep her darkest secret between the doctors and herself; William didn't have to know. He'd make her stop; he'd stop her from doing her job and force her to stay home or do something else less stressing. Stress only advanced the disease at a faster rate. They'd given her six more months to live. Twenty years ago they said she shouldn't worry about it, they'd find a cure for it. Yet, here they were, twenty years later, and no cure. It was okay, though. She'd accepted her death a long time ago.

There was only one other reaper in the last five hundred years that had contracted this disease: Alan Humphries. In 1888, Eric Slingby had tried to save the young Alan by trying the mythical cure of killing one thousand pure souls. However, the reaper had failed and both had turned up dead. The injuries on Mr. Humphries were made by Eric's scythe, and they had determined Eric's death had been by demon. After the investigation, they blamed Alan's death on the reaper Slingby, and Eric had been deemed dishonorable and striped of any commemorations he would have received had he died respectfully. He was denied a funeral and they let his body rot where it lay when they found the two.

Everyone had attended Alan's funeral, and the young reaper had been given special awards posthumously. He died a hero for his bravery with the Thorns of Death. They say that there was an unmarked grave next to his, placed their anonymously, and that it had been mysteriously placed there by a stranger with a black top hat. The grave was said to be the body of Eric Slingby, and it was placed there because the two had been supposed lovers; however, it was never proved, therefore the grave lay unmarked and Alan Humphries long forgotten. Elzabeth had yet to even be born by that time, and she could only know what others told her.

Nevertheless, she wouldn't let herself believe in such fairytales, nor let anyone get close enough to dare risk themselves for her. As long as she let herself be cold and emotionless, she would have less friends and no one would miss her when she was gone. No one would get hurt. If Rae was gone, that was one less person she would have to worry about when she was on her death bed. All she had left was Grell, Ronald, and William. She doubted William would actually care, and she believed that Grell would try to stay emotionless for Ronald's sake. This was good; she'd accomplished her two goals. The first was to be the best reaper she could be—to be the reaper William wanted her to be and to make him proud. Then, secondly, she wanted to die with the least amount of people hurt. She was inferior to them all; she shouldn't matter. Reaper shouldn't be remembered, or linger on lost friends. That would only hold them back, and emotions would start to stand in the way. It was bad for their overall efficiency. However, deep down, Elzabeth just wanted someone. Someone to be there for her at her funeral, to know someone cared. All she had was Ronald. Sure, he was annoying, flirtatious, and couldn't keep his eyes on a pair of breasts for more than a few seconds before looking at the next, but he was the only one who seemed like he actually cared at times. William was supposed to be her caretaker as a child, yet he'd ignored her for nearly nine years. When he did pay attention, it usually ended in that plain look that made her feel so small and unimportant. Like: what purpose could she ever bring to the Dispatch? She was just another statistic. Another reaper with a life cut short. Elzabeth knew Grell wouldn't have long either; she could see he was reaching his own breaking point. If Grell died near her own death, Ronald would attend his mentor's funeral instead as well as William. Then she would have no one…

Even now, Elzabeth was green-eyed; she was jealous because Grell had everything she wanted. Grell had everyone wrapped around his finger as if the world revolved around him. Why was he so depressed if he had everything he wanted? Well, if he had everything Elzabeth wanted: someone who cared.

Grell had William, and Ronald, and Rae, and Chester, and Hollis, and Brooke, and Alexander (the head doctor whom Grell also had a man-crush on), and Benjamin (at the front desk), and Martin Riesenberg, and even Lawrence Anderson. Who didn't Grell have? Elzabeth didn't have anyone. When Death came for her, she would be alone.

Isn't that what she wanted? To be alone so that no one could get hurt?

There was just one flaw with that plan. Someone would get hurt: Elzabeth. Could she really leave knowing that she had been alone her entire life? Hiding behind a mask so that she could please the one person that looked at her as if she were worthless? Maybe she really was worthless. She was meant to be alone. She was meant to be in pain. 'So,' she rationalized, 'I should keep my head high and live through the pain like I have my entire life until the end. If no one comes, so be it. No one should care about someone like me.'

Eventually, William would have to love her. These six months were her last, so she would just have to work harder than ever to get his attention. Yes, that was the answer.

Elzabeth finished dressing, straightening out the few crinkles here and there in her outfit. Green eyes looked back up at the mirror to scan over herself before she gave an affirmative nod. That should do it.

Turning, Elzabeth made her way out of her room and downstairs to the white kitchen. Normally, anyone would have made coffee in the morning; they would have made coffee in their coffee pot. Not Elzabeth. No, the reaper didn't put any coffee in her coffee pot; she never did. Instead, Elzabeth put packets of chocolate powder where the coffee filter should have gone and ran water through it for her daily morning beverage of hot chocolate. She absolutely hated the taste of coffee. Hot chocolate gave her just as much energy, and it tasted better. What more could she ask for?

As the water ran through the coffee maker, Elzabeth made herself a bowl of cereal and ate it in solemn silence (save for the bubbling of the pot on the granite countertop). Eyes scanned the black mahogany cabinets in her white kitchen with a silver sink. Everything had to match; everything had to be perfect. Perhaps that was just a little kink she inherited during her stay with William T. Spears.

A small knock disrupted her silent solitude, and the ivory haired reaper looked out the open doorway towards the door that had been knocked. Setting her empty bowl in the sink, Elzabeth walked over to the door and opened it to come face-to-face with the infamous Ronald Knox himself.

"Ronald," Elzabeth observed with a bland tone, a characteristic frown on her face as she looked the blonde up and down.

"Morning, Elz!" chirped Ronald, giving a mock salute as he allowed himself in and walked past Elzabeth as if it were his own home. White oxfords sinking in the white carpet, Ronald looked around with his hands in his pockets. "You don't change decoration much do you? It's been like this for the last, like…since I first came here."

Elzabeth closed the door with a scowl, crossing her arms as she walked past Ronald to her kitchen. "Last time I checked, this wasn't your house. You have better manners than to waltz into a home announced, or come inside and tell them to redecorate. I am content with the way my home is now."

Ronald rolled his eyes, walking to the kitchen as he leaned against the doorway, crossing one ankle over the other and then crossing his arms. "Last time I checked," he echoed with a small smirk, "the old Elzabeth kept pestering her daddy about how 'Silly Ronnie' is too cool for manners."

"I was eight," she countered with a scoff, pouring hot chocolate to a mug and reaching towards one of the black cabinets for marshmallows.

"Yes, and you're just as cute as you were then. The only difference now is that you're datable!" he quipped, smiling brightly only to have a glare in return as Elzabeth looked over her shoulder before she then rolled her eyes and went back to making her hot chocolate. "What'cha doin'? Marshmallows don't belong in coffee."

Dropping the mini marshmallows into the hot beverage, Elzabeth sighed. "It's hot chocolate, Ronald."

"Hot chocolate? For breakfast?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow with a small smile as he let out a small chuckle.

"Yes, for breakfast, Ronald. I hate the taste of coffee. Hot chocolate is just as effective and tastes much better," she explained, turning around before leaning back against the corner and taking a tentative sip from her mug.

Laughing at that, Ronald rolled his eyes and stood up straight. "Then, by all means, enjoy that hot chocolate. Grell-senpai called in sick today, so me and you are supposed to cover his shift."

"First of all, Ronald, it is: you and I, not me and you," she corrected with a frown before continuing. "Secondly, why does it require the both of us to cover one shift?"

"Apparently, because Grell-senpai is a senior officer, he can take any shift by himself. His shift was in the same area where Rae and Hollis were taken, so it's put on alert until the investigation if over with. Which means: all non-senior officers are supposed to take a senior officer with them, and that you're stuck with me: a senior officer." Ronald did the Death-pose, grinning wide with a wink as he did so, and causing the white-haired reaper nearby to snicker.

"Honestly, you'd think after eighty years that you would be a senior officer," she muttered, taking a gulp of hot chocolate with a scowl. Today was going to be 'one of those days'.

The blonde leaned against the counter next to Elzabeth with a smirk. "Well, whenever you're ready, Princess~" he teased with a chuckle and wink.

"Don't call me that," hissed the younger of the two, finishing her hot chocolate and using a small napkin to wipe the chocolate moustache off the top of her lip. The moment she threw the stained napkin away, she nodded towards Ronald. "Alright, let us go."

Without having to be told twice, Ronald hurried towards the door to open it for the other grim reaper with a charming smile. "Ladies first."

Elzabeth rolled her eyes, muttering a "thank you" to the Death God nearby as she stepped outside and down the pavement of the pathway to the street. All the houses were identical on the outside, lined up by rank and year in a systematic pattern that so matched the owners of these houses. As she was still a normal-ranked officer, she was only halfway to the top where the tall, towering building known as the Shinigami Dispatch Building was located. It was so high; you could see it all the way from the outskirts of the realm and _still_ not be able to see the top of it. Glass windows reflected the light of the sun and glared at those beneath it.

Ronald obsequiously followed Elzabeth up the road towards the Dispatch building with his arms clasped behind his dual-colored head. The blonde looked at the sky through his goggle-like glasses like he usually did. It was always his tradition to look at the sky when he was outside. He never knew quite why he liked to; maybe it was just the clouds. Thin, frail, and wispy above him in the blue ocean hanging over their heads. "Why does it always look so pretty here? It rarely rains, or snows…it just seems perfect all the time," commented the blonde with pensive frown and blink.

"I'm not quite sure. Perhaps the gods just want it to be like that, I won't question it. We spend most of our time in an office or in the mortal realm to really worry about it at any rate. I wouldn't linger on it," replied the other with a stoic countenance.

Ronald fell silent, following her without another word on the way to the Dispatch.

**Xxx**

**AN:**

**Wellllllllllllll~ I might have posted this on schedule, but anyone who lives in America (well, most of my viewers don't live in America. I looked at my story traffic and most of you are actually from Italy and the Netherlands? So thanks for the views across the world!) knows that we are _kinda~_ being attacked by a huge blizzard… My Internet is satellite, and obviously you can't have Internet if it is snowing…Therefore, I am behind schedule. Yaaaayyyyy! :l Not really. **

**Anybody love the description of the mural of the sun Elzabeth painted? It took me literally an HOUR to write that. Unfortunately, poetry isn't really my field of expertise. I try to be as descriptive as possible with my writing, but I am afraid that my vocabulary is extremely limited. My life is still very short, and I have not had the opportunity to expand my range of word use. I do try my best, so any reviews over my description of the mural would be much appreciated so I can improve in that aspect :). **

**Anyways, the theme for this song is Alan's theme song in the musical (the one that probably made millions of fangirls cry): Sei to Shi no Sukima by Matsumoto Shinya. I can't help crying when I listened to this. So warning to those who watch it: Crying is Inevitable. I'm too girly for my own good...But I am a girl...so I guess that's okay...sorta...whatever XD**

**I hope you enjoyed and I'll post my new one-shot and update this story on schedule, hopefully :)**


	10. Chapter 9: Heart of Guilt

Disclaimer: I Do Not Own Kuroshitsuji Or Any Of Its Characters. Those Rights Belong Rightfully and Solefully To Miss Yana Tobosa.

Xxx

Large, grey pillows blocked out the sun, turning the world into a narrow room with a light bulb flickering on and off. The lightning above flashed constantly, illuminating the obsidian London sky with streaks of blue and silver. Rain bucketed, drenching those unfortunate enough to be caught in the downpour. The spray of the sky's tears ricocheting from the ground was hidden by the thick fog blanketing the Earth like a bed sheet.

Elzabeth looked up, frowning at the amount of rain that could have put the cataclysmic downpour in the tales of Noah to shame. It was too late in the season for rain…Shouldn't it be snowing instead? After all, it was nearing Christmas.

The reaper scanned the weeping fluffs of dismal black and grey above through her misted glasses. Today was such a sad day. Why it was such, she didn't know. To the ivory haired reaper, it seemed almost like the gods were grieving.

But for what?

Shaking her head, she stayed under the cover of an overhang above in an alleyway. The bitter wind stirred the sodden clothes of the blonde whose odds had certainly not been in his favor when he took his time flirting with a cute brunette on the street, during his search for his partner, and got caught in the sudden rain. However, Elzabeth had been under the shelter of a balcony of an apartment in the building she was leaning against.

Their shoes sloshed in the trash of the alley turned into goo by the water turning streets into oceans as the drains and sewers backed up. Keeping her arms crossed, the reaper shivered, watching as her breath formed in the air in front of her. So cold, yet not cold enough for snow.

Just rain—bitter rain.

Ronald's hands dug deep into his wet pockets as he sulked and followed the female reaper in front of him with a frown. And to think, he was so close to getting that girl's number. Wait, what was her name again? Michelle? Mickey? Mildred? Well, it was something that started with an M. Whatever; it wouldn't have worked out anyways. Sighing heavily, Ronald let his fly away fringe stick to his wet forehead as he trudged through trash and water. Humans could be such messy creatures; their inventions never seemed to work just quite right.

"Hey Elz, y-ya think, after this, we can go, and the two of us can have dinner together t'night?" Ronald suggested, trying to push the other's buttons again as he chuckled.

As expected, Elzabeth rolled her eyes with a sigh, shivering with a snort. "No, Ronald. I do not think so. How close are we to the target?"

"Well, judging on the progress we made, I'd say we're about another half hour away…" he muttered, sneezing with a miserable scowl.

"WE HAVE ONLY TEN MINUTES TO GET THERE!" hissed the reaper as she spun around with her teeth gritted.

Snorting as he flipped strands of wet, yellow hair away from his polychromatic eyes, Ronald let out a small chuckle. "Relax, princess, we're almost there. My point is pick up the pace; I'm freezing my ass off here, _honey_."

Elzabeth nearly strangled the cocky senior with her gloved hands, yet she only huffed, whipping back around with a growl as she stomped through deep puddles with her high-heeled boots. She'd kill him later, she knew she would, but it would do her no good on her record if she killed him while on duty. Maybe a little closer to her upcoming death, she'd get rid of the nuisance finally.

Ignoring the triumphant chuckle behind her, the reaper braved the stinging rain attacked her bare skin like thousands of icy whips. With a single leap, Elzabeth made it to the top of a roof and quickly ran along the edges of the rooftops laid out in front of her. Ronald grunted with a displeased frown as he followed the white reaper up to the expanse of concrete spread out before them.

Elzabeth saw the yellow mop of a head in peripheral vision and couldn't resist the temptation to look to her left at the blonde grinning at her.

"Come on, Elz! Too slow" he shouted over the thundering storm with a laugh as he took off without her in a challenge that was quickly accepted.

"_Honestly_…" muttered the reaper, shaking her head as she sped up her already fast pace with ease.

Slick shoes splattered in large puddles as the beings wet with rain ran along the rooftops of London. A delighted laugh filled the shaking, thundering air as Ronald tilted his head back into the tsunami of water wept by the black sky. Ronald sped up even more, jumping up to take advantage of a brick chimney and ricochet off it over the space between rooftops acting as a man-made canyon.

Elzabeth's eyes softened with a quaint fondness at her senior as she ghosted the other's footsteps, and eventually, she too jumped off the side of the chimney and front flipped over the spacious gap. Easily catching up with her challenger, she passed him with only the slightest smirk.

Blinking in surprise, Ronald's mouth opened slightly before he smiled and laughed, letting the other win with a shake of the head. Elzabeth was too sexy for her own damn good.

As her heart beat in her chest with joy, Elzabeth looked over her shoulder, offering that small smile to Ronald that was quickly received and returned. She felt so…free like this. It was a rush—a feeling she wished would last forever. And then it all ceased as she felt her heart clench in her heaving chest.

The Thorns of Death…

'_No, not now—not in front of Ronald! He'd tell William!'_

She kept going, pain blinding her only until she felt a hand try to pull her down—the hand of gravity. A white boot slipped on a wet edge of a rooftop, and green-yellow eyes widened beneath glasses.

"ELZABETH!"

Ronald watched as she dropped from his sight, and he dove after her before he grabbed her outstretched arm and pulled her towards his chest as they fell. Managing to get his feet under him before they hit the ground, Ronald gasped as they landed on their feet, slipping and stumbling forwards as Ronald held the reaper in his arms protectively. They began to fell, but it was impeded by the wall now pressing against Elzabeth's back. All she could make out was the black of Ronald's tuxedo jacket as she stood there in his arms with wide eyes and a trembling breath.

"I got you…I got you…" A wet, gloved hand combed through tangled, white locks as the blonde nuzzled the top of Elzabeth scalp with a relieved sigh. It seemed more like he was speaking to himself than Elzabeth at the moment—trying to tell himself that she was truly alright.

"Ronald…I'm fine," muttered the reaper as she came out of her trance of fright; her heart was no longer being squeezed by the thorns in her body. "Let go…"

Reluctantly, the reaper started to reply as his grip loosened on the reaper only slightly, and he looked down at Elzabeth. Raindrops rolled down his face from the still pouring rain, and a drop dripped from the tip of his nose as he blinked. The ivory haired figure in his arms blinked owlishly at his close proximity that was too close for her general comfort. Then he got started to get a little closer, and she started to try to lean back, but there was a wall behind her prohibiting her escape. The hand in her hair slyly slid from her hair, a finger running along her jaw before Ronald cupped her chin between his forefinger and thumb. He was going to kiss her!

Maybe, it wouldn't be so bad if she gave in. She'd be lying if she said that it wasn't tempting at all, but…what would William do? Eyes half-lidded and breath shaky with anticipation as they were barely inches apart, she could faintly smell the unique scent of the cologne Ronald usually wore combined with the aroma of rain and mist. Her hands started to hold Ronald's jacket a little tighter, eyes nearly closed when she felt her lips just hovering over Ronald's, and before Ronald could dare to seal the deal, Elzabeth snapped from her trance.

Eyebrows furrowing, Elzabeth grit her teeth and shoved the reaper off her with a displeased growl. She turned, shaking slightly like a dog that had just came inside a dry house after a rainstorm. Lemon-lime eyes narrowing with malice, she glared as she looked over her shoulder and tried to straighten herself out, and she tried to ignore the pitiful look of a slapped-puppy on the blonde's face. "I thank you for your valiancy in catching me after my fall, but we are still on the clock, and we still have a target to reap. My suggestion is to put our job before you start taking advantage of women. Save that for after hours in your home."

Elzabeth shook her head, deciding to leave the alleyway by walking down the street and into the full-on rain on the main road. Ronald merely stood there, dumbfounded as he blinked in surprise. He had been so close on trying to sway her, and she still wouldn't budge. Naturally, he knew it wouldn't be this easy, but now he was starting to understand what his mentor felt after being repeatedly rejected.

With a somber sigh, Ronald hung his head, closing his eyes as he obediently started to follow the reaper who had nearly given in to his subtle seductions.

Xxx

How dare he? How dare he try to kiss her?!

Elzabeth grit her teeth, hands balled into fists at her sides as she defiantly marched through the rain towards their target that was soon to be reaped. Honestly, of all the things Ronald pulled, that was likely the lowest, most dirtiest, most...most...Elzabeth was out of words to describe him. There was really only one word that kept coming to mind: idiot. But who was really the idiot here? She had wanted it too, didn't she? It was so tempting to give in, to finally know what another pair of lips would feel like against her's. NO! She couldn't think like that!

Mind turning towards the thought of what had happened before she fell, the reaper sighed and lost all malice and frustration that had built up inside her. It had been close—too close. With her impending doom not far away in her future, was that the true reason she had shoved Ronald away? Did she not want him to get attached?

A kiss could change everything.

A kiss would…

…No. Elzabeth shook her head slowly, eyes turning as cold as a winter storm's bitter breeze. A kiss would do nothing. She'd stay as emotionless as ever, no matter the predicament.

Not far from here, Elzabeth could see the outline of a woman coughing in the rain, trudging through the street across evening traffic—her target. Watching from the shadows with her bright green eyes, she waited patiently, listening to the signaling of a honk of a horn and a thud as the woman rolled under the car with a pitiful cry. Scythe in hand, the reaper approached the crowd of people, cloaked from mortal view, and kneeled next to the dying woman they pulled out from under the still running car. Oh well, another mortal less…four more born somewhere in the world…Brilliant. Humans were like rabbits.

Elzabeth reaped the woman with no remorse, paying little attention to her monotonous records and filling out the report with frightening accuracy—without Ronald.

Just where the hell was he? Probably off goofing around and proclaiming how close he was from getting a kiss from the most "unkissable" person in all the realms.

Elzabeth walked away from the scene now surrounded with ambulances that had arrived too late to save the woman, letting her scythe disappear from her hand and ignoring the coiling sensation around her heart. It had been happening more frequently, and she only hoped she could get home before she had another attack from the Thorns.

Boots sloshing in muddy rain puddles, the storm had quieted down to a light sprinkle; though it didn't matter, she was already soaking wet from head to toe. White hair hung in her face dismally as she walked through an alley towards the wall that she preferred to make her portals back to the reaper realm. And then she saw it. A heap of blue and red lay limply on the cold, cement ground. Was that really what she thought it was?

The sickening smell of metal and rotting flesh blanketed the air in a choking aroma. Elzabeth should have been used to this by now, but the strings these scenes pulled hit her like a wave.

Eyes wide, Elzabeth quickly walked forwards, kneeling next to the unmoving body to gently flip it over. Her breath, visible in the cold air, caught in her throat before she confirmed suspicion. "Hollis…"

The poor, mute Shinigami was limp in her arms, tiny chest barely moving and glasses snapped and broken. Blood was splattered on her face, coating the front of her clothes as well. And Elzabeth could smell it; the sickening smell of metal and rotting flesh blanketed the air in a choking aroma. Elzabeth should have been used to this by now, but the strings these scenes pulled hit her like a wave.

The rain was still coming down as it soaked the limp body, browned blood running into the russet puddle beneath them like lazy gravy and dying the knees of Elzabeth's once white dress pants. Her mangled lip and obviously broken nose were caked in running, brown blood down her once pale face now black and brown with bruises. Hollis's once bright blue hair was an ugly brown color in the large, bloody, watery puddle she lay in.

"Holy shit! What the hell happened?!" Ronald was standing behind her with wide eyes, keeping a distance from the two. He knew full well of Elzabeth's portal habits, and in his hope to catch up with the reaper, he had followed her here only to see the body of Hollis Harvey in her arms. "Is she…?"

Elzabeth shook her head, looking back at the blond whose image was now blurred even with her misty glasses. "No…she's still breathing."

A deep sigh of relief escaped the blonde's lips before he came forwards, gently taking the tiny Shinigami from Elzabeth's arms. "I'll take her to the infirmary for you, just go ahead and make the portal."

Standing, Elzabeth placed her hand on the wall, closing her eyes as she let out a breath and let the world around her dissolve from her consciousness. A bright light formed at the epicenter of her palm, swirling with energy as it slowly grew and took up the wall before them. Once it was stable enough, Elzabeth backed away, allowing Ronald to bring the small reaper into the realm before she followed him in. Their dismal surroundings faded into a bright white medical facility, beds strewed along the walls to their left and right—empty beds. They were side by side, IVs hung to the wall above each bed and to the left, though Elzabeth doubted they had been used for years. It wasn't often that the infirmary received many patients; therefore, there were not many nurses, nor doctors, to maintain it. The leader of those nurses, and the one who spent all her time there, was Brooke Easton, a violet-haired Shinigami who was, on most occasions, drunk. Elzabeth left Ronald's side, leaving wet footprints on the usually pristine tile floor as she went in search of said nurse.

Feet lay propped up on the desk outside the infirmary, the nurse, clad in a very scanty nurse's uniform, was fast asleep with a book in her lap and a bottle of booze on the counter-empty.

Elzabeth growled, rolling her eyes as she swept the high-heel clad feet from the white surface, causing the nurse to become unbalanced in her chair and allowing the book to slip from her lap and onto the floor with a heavy thud. A half-snort was Elzabeth's answer before the nurse stirred, opening one eye groggily. "Wha' the hell you want, Spears?"

"I found it my obligation to inform you that Hollis Harvey has been admitted to your infirmary as you have obviously failed to notice as such," was her blunt, monotonous reply. Snickering, the reaper left back to the medical ward, knowing that Brooke would follow shortly (as soon as she got over the obvious hangover she would likely experience).

Ronald was sitting there on the edge of the bed, holding the smaller Shinigami's hand gently in his own and stroking it with his thumb. A spark of light jealousy ignited in the ivory-headed reaper watching the scenario, though she quickly abolished it from her mind. Now was not time for such things.

Xxx

Elzabeth and Ronald stood in the hallway now, side by side as they waited on Brooke to come out from the infirmary and give them the news on Hollis.

Down the hallways they could hear the mindless chattering of their coworkers, keyboards and typewriters clicking endlessly, and even the occasional on and off of the water faucets in the bathrooms; after all, good personal hygiene was encouraged in the workplace. It echoed and bounced spontaneously through the large Dispatch buildings, acting as a temporary distraction from their thoughts.

Arms crossed, Elzabeth leaned against the wall, looking at her feet absently. The clenching of her heart may have stopped, but it was nothing compared to the nagging reminder of how close Ronald Knox had been just hours ago. The feel of his breath lightly ghosting her skin, warm, gloved fingers cupping her face, and the way those beautiful, green and yellow eyes stared at her as if they had meant to hypnotize her. Why hadn't she given in? Obvious-the answer was simply obvious. William would never dare give in to such a temptation, that was all the answer she ever needed. However, in her logical mind, it didn't quite sit right with her. Seldom, she would see those longing glances he'd thrown at a particular redhead before they grew cold again. Was he feeling the same thing? Tortured by Grell Sutcliff like that for centuries? Or was she just merely seeing what she wanted to see? Seeing what she wanted to believe? Would Ronald do the same thing like that to her, but in a different way?

Sighing heavily, Elzabeth pushed the thoughts away, eyes closing before she felt a hand lightly touch her shoulder. "She'll be fine Elz..."

Elzabeth looked up with owlish polychromatic eyes, blinking as she found her gaze at the blonde returned sympathetically. His hair was disheveled, as was hers, clothes still fairly soaked and it dawned on her that neither of them had bothered to change or fix their appearances during the long three hours they had been standing there in wait.

"I am well aware of that Ronald, my concern lies not with Hollis Harvey."

Ronald blinked in modest surprise before he tilted his head the way he always did when he was curious and spoke. "Really? What about then?"

Elzabeth turned her head away, looking down the hallway that merely ended in a T; her gaze meeting nothing but a wall. "Personal things, Ronald."

"The kiss?" Ronald received no reply. "Err...the almost kiss?"

"Ronald, that wasn't even an 'almost'. My reaction was merely delayed by the shock of falling. Had I been in the right state of mind, I would have pushed you away much sooner." Elzabeth moved her shoulder, causing Ronald's hand to fall from its perch.

"I don't doubt it." Blinking in surprise, the white haired reaper looked back at Ronald as he continued. "I get it, Elz. I really do. You don't know any better. Any affection you have, William convinced you it was taboo. For that, I'm compelled to wack 'im upside the head. Won't do that 'cause I'd likely be fired, but you get the point. There's a fine line between keeping your emotions out of the job and ignoring them completely. Both Grell-senpai and I told William to teach you that, and obviously he isn't the greatest listener in the world. You lost your childhood because of that, and you don't know what it feels like to actually have fun. I bet your definition of fun is reading expense reports and doing your job. We don't need another Spears, Elz. We just need you. _I_ need you. I know there's something in there, you're not completely gone. When we _'almost'_ kissed, I could see it. You were tempted. You _wanted_ to, but you couldn't let it because I know, that you thought that whatever William wouldn't do, you shouldn't do. I'm patient, Elzabeth. I can wait. But, if you never return my feelings, at least I want to give you a taste of what fun...what _freedom_ is."

Elzabeth just stood there, dumbstruck, when Ronald finished his little monologue. Where had that even come from? It sounded like a modern Shakespearean speech, or a movie script...maybe even a paragraph in a fantasy story. It was too good to be true. Too...unrealistic for a Spears. Martin's words echoed in her head: "The Spears' reputation: cold ass pencil pushers." Was that what everyone thought-even Ronald Knox?

"Eh? Speechless, huh? I guess a lifetime with someone really lets you see who they truly are...So, when you want a real kiss, you know where I am." Ronald offered her a cocky smirk, a small hum of self-humor making itself known.

"I will...keep that in mind..." she whispered, looking up when the door nearby opened and closed-Brooke Easton.

The nurse looked around, frowning at the two when she couldn't find what she was searching for. "Where is Mr. Spears? I told his secretary to send him down here at the first possible moment."

"Haven't seen 'im, doc," he said, smirking at the glare he received from the nurse.

Brooke Easton had all of the qualifications to be the head of the medical staff; however, it was due to her drinking that she was never promoted to Head Doctor.

"Don't call me 'doc'," she muttered before rolling her eyes and stuffing crossing her arms. "Furthermore, would it be too much to ask for the two of you to fetch him for me? This is something he is going to want to see."

Ronald nodded, cutting Elzabeth off before she could answer. "Yeah, we'll get 'im. Come on, Elz." Gesturing with his head down the hallway, he started off without the younger reaper, hands in his pockets. The only thing Elzabeth could do now was follow.

Xxx

"Where have you been, Sutcliff? Your shift started at three this morning, and it's nearly noon now."

William sat at his desk, where he seemed to have a permanent residence, hands folded on the desk with Grell Sutcliff standing across from him.

The redhead merely scoffed, rolling his eyes as he turned his head away and crossed his arms. "Well I'm here now, aren't I? It's not like I skipped out on the entire thing. Besides, I know my shift has been covered by little Ronnie and Elz. It'll be good for them, don't you think, darling?"

A weary sigh plagued the supervisor, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "This is the fourth time this year, Sutcliff. I have no choice but to deduct your wage and deny you your requested leave of absence-"

"B-But Will I-!" Grell was cut off by a hand that William had raised and a menacing glare.

"In addition, I expect you to make up your paperwork and stay with unpaid overtime to make up for the hours that you have neglected. No exceptions, Sutcliff."

Grell's teeth gritted, his eyes narrowing into deadly daggers. He couldn't...He wouldn't dare to take his vacation away from him. He'd been planning it for months...years even! And it had only been four days in the past year! As much as he loved William, this was one thing that made his blood boil. Steam seemed to pour from his ears, and he could imagine his teeth crushing that perfect, pale throat...blood rushing into his mouth and draining that stoic man of whatever he had left of his life. Oh, to end that miserable, pitiful existence of his. It was cruel to attack someone that couldn't attack back, and Grell had behaved for centuries no matter how the other treated him. This was the straw that broke the camel's back.

A threatening step was taken; a confused look in response.

That look in the redhead's eyes was nothing but murder. Even William T. Spears knew how dangerous and volatile the ginger could be, and he had tried to be on the fine line of strict and fair. However, this time, he had crossed it. And the consequences would not be in his favor.

"Sutcliff? Grell Sutcliff, I hope you understand that this is Dispatch policy. I have no control over-"

A hand gripped William's tie, tugging him forwards to meet Grell halfway between the desk. His stomach dug painfully into the side of the desk, and William found those teeth too close for comfort..._way_ too close. The surprise he had experienced had caught him off guard, staring wide eyed at the reaper who was face-to-face with him. "Sutcliff, it's against regulation to-"

"I don't give a damn about regulation, _Mr. Spears_. Give me my fucking vacation back or I swear I'll-" Grell screamed, eyes wide as William managed to regroup and grab his wrist, twisting his arm back and slamming him face first into the desk. That had held its firm grip on the wrist who's bandages were hidden beneath two sleeves. However, Grell could feel the injuries reopening, bleeding onto the gauze that kept it from staining his clothes.

"You have no right to threaten a superior, Sutcliff. In light of code 91-12, you have been suspended from your duties as a Grim Reaper. I expect you to leave immediately once I release you. Is that clear?" William didn't receive a response, and when he looked at the redhead's face, all he saw was pain. And then he saw the blood between the cuff of Grell's sleeve and the black gloves he wore (embroidered in ruby letters: G.N.S). He hadn't been holding the reaper enough to cause that kind of damage. At most there would have been bruising, but...blood?

William's hand moved to the redhead's sleeve, trying to see the wound before Grell screamed, twisting from his grip and slapping William across the face-hard. "Don't touch me, you bastard! That...That is no way to treat a lady!"

Wide eyes stared at the redhead, dumbfounded as they watched Grell storm out of the office, door slamming with pure malice.

William blinked a few times before he slowly sat down, remembering that truly hurt expression on the poor redhead's face. No, there was nothing poor about Grell. He should not sympathize with a man who had broken regulation time and time again, including just a few minutes ago when he was so close to killing him. All William had done was follow code, but for once in his life, he began to doubt whether or not it was the right thing to do. Shaking his head, he ignored the ringing phone on his desk in front of him. Whatever it was, it could wait. Paperwork was the only thing that was going to bring him any peace at the moment.

Surely the phone call couldn't be that important.

However, that image never left his mind, and the guilt never left his heart.

**Xxx**

**Hey~ It's been quite a long time hasn't it? Sorry I missed my last update, but for some reason I get sick really easy during November and December. If it isn't the stomach flu, it's the cold. If it isn't the cold, it's strep throat, &amp;c...**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this particular post. Sorry, it took so long to write. To make it up to you guys, I'm coming with a whole new story called: The Phantom of the Theatre. It will star the reapers and some of the main characters of Kuroshitsuji in The Phantom of the Opera. Main star is, of course, Grell as Christine, William as Viscount Raoul, Undertaker as the Phantom/Erik, Ronald as Meg Giry, Angela as Carlotta, and Ciel and Sebastian as Armand Moncharmin and Firmin Richard. **

**I'm still working out a few kinks, but I hope to be publishing this story the day after Christmas! I'm really excited for this, and I can't wait to share it with you guys! **

**Before I forget, the theme song for this particular chapter is: The Heart Wants What It Wants by Selena Gomez. Yeah, kinda cliche I know, but whatever. Get over it. I'm just trying to get to my 5,000 words mark, so I'm just going to blather on about that. Blah, blah, blah. **

**I want to wish a very merry Holidays to everyone. I send my love to everyone everywhere! Thank you for staying with me this long, if you are still reading, and I would like to say that I very much appreciate! Once again, I send my regards to all you readers out there! :D Especially, crazigirl, who i know is probably going to read this minutes after I update this story. Because she is a stalker...not really, but I appreciate the fans like that! Okay, made it to 5,000 words, I won't bother you anymore XD **

**Merry Christmas~!**


	11. Chapter 10: Reactions

_Clip, clop..._

_Clip, clop..._

_Clip, clop..._

Tears burned two-toned gems of emerald.

Betrayal stung worse than the tears in his eyes or the bitter wind pricking his skin through layers of clothes. A pit formed in his heart that could not shatter for it was already in pieces. Throat tight and choked up, he refused to cry. Grell Sutcliff, as much as a lady as he wished he was, could not bring himself to be so fragile and weak like one. He would be no better than his beloved Angeline. After all, that weakness was why he killed her, so shouldn't he kill himself should he bring himself so low?

Despite the lack of rain at the moment, it was as wet and dimal in London as ever. The puddles on the ground were frozen over to make a trail of mini lakes along the roads and streets. Icicles hung from signs and balconies, threatening the lives of those who walked under them.

Grell smirked to himself, imagining an icicle falling and impaling an unsuspecting passerby below through their brains, protruding from their chin, and tip stained red and grey with their blood and brains. He'd watch as their head, and throat, and clothes, and body, and sick, grotesque being drenched in red. Oh red...so lovely...red...red...red...red..red, red, red, red, red, RED!

Yes...That would do nicely. And who better to be so unsuspecting beneath those icicles but his beloved William T. Spears?

The red reaper pictured green and yellow eyes staring off into nothing, and he could feel the cold frames of William's glasses in his hands as he stripped the man of what seemed to be the most important thing int nhe world to him. Glasses that meant more to him than he...Grell Sutcliff.

Once sickened thoughts fell to despair, feeling that unwanted tug of tears in the corners of his eyes. Why did no one want him? Was he not desireable? What was so wrong with him that no one could bare to stay around...look at him like a living being? Then again, he'd already died. He wasn't really living, was he?

Grell stopped to look around at the cheery surroundings, shops already set up for Christmas, and teens staying out late and parading down the streets here and there in their little groups. He just wanted to be like them-happy. Wasn't that the thing that all humans had the right to have? But he wasn't human, was he? Grell had done his best to embrace himself, and though he truly loved to be how he was-to torture, main, rip, tear, and mutilate his victims...watch, taste, and feel blood for himself-it wasn't enough for him. It could never be enough. Eternity was too long.

His hands itched to get his hands on a few teens, have fun with them throughout the night although it would likely get him fired from whatever job he had left. Nevertheless, he kept his distance, allowing them to pass by as he sat down on a wet bench. At that, the redhead hissed though he stayed put, knowing the damage had been done, and he could dry out his beloved coat and pants later.

Grell followed the fob chain hanging from his pocket before pulling out his golden pocket watch and flipping it open. At the top was a small picture of his first Christmas with William, the two kissing under the mistletoe. Although it was more of an ambush on Grell's part, and William had most definately been opposed to it, he alway thought there could have been something more in between them every time he looked at the picture. Now all he saw was false hope and his own stupidity.

Letting out a deep sigh, Grell read the time-10:39-and closed the pocket watch with a SNAP! It was stuffed back into his pocket before he propped his elbow up on his knee and rested his cheek atop his fist. Knuckles dug into his cheek, letting the skin gather around it loosely as it was pushed by the force of his hand against his face.

Green eyes watched passerby and the ripples along simi-frozen puddle when an occasional breeze blew across the city. What was he even doing? Wasting time-wasn't that all he had been doing to everyone he had ever known? Wastig their time? Multiple times he had considered sparing them his presence and ridding himself of it. However, he was afraid to face the obis. What would happen then? What would death feel like for a second time? Grell hoped he would never have experience it, yet he knew better than that. All immortals would have to face it eventually. Nothing lasted forever. If it wasn't the demons and hostile Cinematic Records that got them, it would be the Thorns of Death or an illness of the mind-madness. They would all have an end someday. And his seemed right around the corner.

It was like the monster in a child's bedroom, lurking in the closet but never daring to venture out, leaving the child to wonder and fear what could possibly be there. Sometimes the child would be brave enough to figure out what it was, but most of the time it was something entirely different from what they expected. Grell was a child, waiting for his monster to come out of his closet and play...and he was too frightened to dare approach the closet.

Grell could feel sleep trying to drag his person into darkness; his body protesting the cold weather and wet seat that he was perched upon. It longed for his warm, red bed and release from the day's stress. Reluctantly, he stood with a shiver, bringing his coat to his shoulders and wrapping it around his freezing body. Part of him wanted to punish himself for his behavior today, but the other half knew it was nothing but William's fault he was even in this predicament. Whether or not to blame himself was the question that had no good answer. He was lost in a neverending forest full of spiders and webs. All he could do is get lost and stuck, helplessly letting the spiders drain him of his essence one by one...slowly and painfully. It was funny how we let ourselves go and allow others to dictate our lives. There's no say in ourselves but in those around us. We're all just pawns in the game of life, and in order to win...most of us will be sacrificed along the way. No matter how it is done, we all lose ourselves someway, and only a select few have the brains to go on...carry on through the darkest of times. Life is a swamp that comes to our knees and slowly we sink as if it were sand. However, it was only our fault we are sinking, for we were the ones who decided to wear the wrong shoes.

Once again, his boots clicked and clopped and clapped along the pavement, green eyes watching his feet as Grell made his way to his favorite portalling area.

Xxx

William stared at his paperwork sitting blank on his desk, right hand clutching his favorite black ink pen as his mind stayed blank of thoughts to write down. The only thing that could appear in his mind was that of his partner who had run away after being suspended.

There were many times Grell had been treated the way he had been treated, so why did it bother him so much? Maybe it was that look on Grell's face. It was nothing but pain and betrayal. Had suspension been a poor choice of action? No, the redhead had to be reprimanded. He had gone too long without a firmer hand, and it had been time to put Grell in his place. If the redhead had been let off, his other coworkers may get the foolish idea that he actually cared for him. No, Sutcliff was nothing more to him than an annoying subordiante that needed to be locked up in an insane asylum. Hoenstly, that man probably took crazy pills and they still did little for him. He was too mad, too out of control. Perhaps, William could put him on a leash.

All the sudden the ridicualous thought of walking Grell around like a dog came to mind.

William shook his head and frowned, blinking off the most disturbing notion from his thought process. There was no time to be distracted. Paperwork had to be done.

_~But Grell~ _his mind seemed to say.

"What about him?" he asked to thin air with a growl before rolling his eyes. He supposed he should apologize for the way he acted after Grell's initial response. Mayhaps, he had been holding Grell a little tighter than he had realized. That had to be the only reason rell had been bleeding. Or, Grell had been previously injured on a reaping and he had-

_Wait._

Previously injured? Since when did Grell ever get injured on reapings? Grell never experienced any trouble during his dispatches unless there was a demon involved.

Instantly remembering the raven-haired crowish freakin the nineteeth century, William began to wonder: what if Grell had discovered him again or found another ma-demon like the crow?

William had to correct his thoughts, knowing full well that demons were nothing like men and could never be no matter how much they appeared to be so.

Standing, he made his way over to his filing cabinet, pulling out Grell's records from the previous four incidents that Grell had been late. As he fingered through them, he found no mention of a demon in any of hem-even for the records up to seven days before them (as every collection of paperwork was made weekly and not daily).

SO assuming that a demon had not been involved, what could possibly be making Grell stay home from work? Was it just pure laziness and neglect like his subordinate and junior, Ronald Knox? No, based on the way Grell fawned over the supervisor, he likely wouldn't want to waste a moment with him. On top of that, Sutcliff absolutely loved to show off his skills, especially during his reaps.

William shivered at the thought of the redhead constantly flirting with him all the time. Admittedly, William did not find Grell's...antics so unbearable, as long as they were kept professional and did not hinder the efficency of the Dispatch. Nevertheless, that always seemed to be the case with Grell, and he could hardly stand for it.

Then why did he not bother firing Grell when he had the chance? With the new constant additions to the Dispatch, they could do without one employee like Grell Sutcliff. Was it...fondness?

No, he couldn't possibly be fond of Sutcliff, could he? He was his subordinate and underling. There was nothing significant or even likeable about the redhead. However, if that was the case, why was he already missing Grell when he had only been gone a few hours? Why was he constantly checking the clock as if he were expecting Grell's shift to be over and see the redhead waltz through the door to give him a 'goodnight kiss'...that usually ended with the red reaper's face in the desk or William's fist?

Closing his eyes, William tried to purge his brain of the nonsense flooding it, particuarly those of Grell and all his regrets along the centuries. There were more important things to do and think about than about a certain annoying employee. Reluctantly, he closed the files, putting them away before starting to come up with new ideas and thoughts of why or how Grell could have possibly be injured. The only thing that could have possibly stayed from Grell's last shift would have been one made by his scythe. A scythe wound from his chainsaw would be obvious and would have gone striaght through his beloved coat. Also, Grell would have been defenseless and likely dead had the demon managed to steal it from Grell. Ater all, the redhead held onto it like a baby with a rattle. Well, there was Grell's secondary scythe, but it was nothing but a small, ruby handled knife. Grell would have had to roll up his sleeves and present himself to the demon or have done it himse-...

Realization struck William like a biciclist running into a brick wall at full speed. Self-inflicted...the cuts had to be self-inflicted. It explained why Grell must have been late those days...Four days where he had not been able to handle work mentally. He couldn't talk off those days because he was saving up for his Christmas vacation, so he had willingly recceived tardies by coming in the last few minutes of the day.

Grell had managed to fool everyone, even William, of his mental state. How long had Grell been suffering like this? William doubted that he made anything better for the redhead by smashing his dreams and making his life a living hell. Regret and guilt clenched his heart in a fist. That look of pain and betrayal he had seen in the redhead when he had held his wrist was an insight to a tiny part of what Grell must have been feeling. And now he had just ruined a year's worth of work, suspended Grell, and now the redhead was probably in his aparment doing who knows what...What if he had only made it worse? What if he was the straw that bent Grell's back? What if that knife that slit his wrists dug deeper...or was over his throat isntead. He could have just muredered Grell Sutcliff.

With haste, William grabbed his trench coat, throwing it over his shoudlers and slipping it on frantically. He had to reach Grell before he did anything stupid. This time he didn't have to rationalize what he was doing. He just had to do it.

That's when Elzabeth and Ronald walked into the room. "Hey, boss, can ya come down an-"

"No time, Knox. I have much more important matters to address," he muttered, buttoning up the coat with deft fingers. "Ms. Spears, I do trust you will look over the Dispatch during my short leave of absence. There has been a crisis that has come up with a particular coworker, and I am afraid I must leave to deal with it."

Elzabeth nodded slowly, eyes narrowing. Thought William had kept his emotionless facade, she could see the way his fingers fumbled with the buttons, and the panic that was hidden deep within his eyes. "I shall do my best, Mr. Spears," was her curt yet dubious reply. "I will inform Martin Riesenerg of this absence."

"Yes, indeed. Mr. Riesenberg needs to be informed immediatly. It appears that a certain coworker may be attempting on his life at the moment. There is no time to spare."

Ronald perked up with wide eyes. Who in the Dispatch would be doing such a thing? No one ever seemed to be gloomy or off-key today, or even yesterday, or any day before that give for a few with good reasons. But none seemed like they were the type to commit suicide. And why did William seem so off? Who could possibly have him so worried?

_~Grell~_

It seemed obvious to Ronald as he began to fill with worry and concern. "Senpai? It's Grell-senpai isn't it?" he asked softly, biting his bottom lip.

Grell? It would certainly make sense for Mr. Spears to seem so worried to Elzabeth. She knew this day would eventually come, but for it to happen so soon? With Hollis in the hospital at the moment, and Rachel missing, the Dispatch seemed to be loosing one agent after another. Elzabeth knew how William was likely feeling. It was so obvious he cared deeply for the redhead, and it was no surprise he was in this state at all-no matter how unlike him it was.

William, however, did not answer as he made a portal on his wall, deciding against speaking to the their inquiries. "Just do as ordered, Knox...Spears..." He nodded to them each as he mentioned their names before stepping through and leaving the two younger Shinigami alone in his office.

Ronald turned to Elzabeth with a saddened expression. "It can't be Grell-senpai, right..."

"I have no doubt in my mind that it is, Ronald. Although, right now, there is nothing we can do to assist in the situation..." she answered with a sigh, adjusting her glasses. "The right thing to do now is inform Mr. Riesenberg of Mr. Spears' whereabouts."

"Marty? He isn't here. Saw him sneaking out just after my lunch break." Ronald pointed toward the door with his thumb, his other hand in his pocket.

Elzabeth scowled, an annoyed countenance stamping her face. "And you didn't think to mention that before he left?"

"Umm..."

"Who is going to run the Division if neither of them are here?"Elzabeth raised a skeptical eyebrow as she crossed her arms.

"Ummm..." Ronald gave a sheepsih grin, hand rubbing the back of his neck as he blushed and looked away.

Elzabeth sighed, "Ronald..."

"Yeah?"

"You're an idiot."

**XXX**

**Yay~! Another chapter. This one was kinda hard for me to write as I've been having severe writer's block for some time now...about since Christmas. Maybe because I was being spoiled with so many gifts. As you may have noticed, some 5,000 words have miraculously diappeared from my story. Over the past mont or so, my editor, PrimeLaughter, has actually been editing my stories. I've been reposting the chapters up until Cchapter five. Unfortunately, i never send her the author's note, and with the resposts...I've been forgetting to re-add the author's notes. So yes, a lot of my words for the beginning of this story are actually part of these notes. Why do I write notes so long? Because I love talking to you guys, my fans! That's why! Get over it! I love you, so what is there to complain about?!**

**Anyway, because of this, I will not be reposting them again, as those author's notes are written after I have written the chapters. So, they won't hold the same meaning, and I could never possibly remember what I wanted to tell you about these anyway. Yeah, so my grammar in the Author's Note stinks? Oh well, this is how I talk. I have a typing speed of over 180 WPM, so usually I just type as fast as I think, and this is what pops out. **

**Now, I'm back, and I hope I won't be gone long again. Theme song for this chapter?Don't really want to go through my playlist to find one. I just didn't listen to a song while writing this. Maybe that's why I don't liek this chapter as much as the others...I really just...feel like this chapter stinks...like...badly. Okay, no more rambling. Cha~...(yeah...I said cha instead of chow. Get over that too).**


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